The Home Guard
by Manuel the Wonder Llama
Summary: Major Jasper Whitlock was an officer and a soldier. He served valiantly in the American Civil War, until his disappearance. This is the story of one memory he lost during his transition from mortal to vampire. Fanon, history
1. Shiloh

**A/N: This is one of them. Jasper Whitlock is the intellectual property of S. Meyer, and is likely copyrighted. No infringement is intended. I'm just playing with history. All other characters are either known Civil War leaders or figments of my overactive imagination. While I recognize my own limited knowledge of both historical events and Twilight, this is my attempt to increase the historical elements and accuracy in fanficdom. Special thanks to WuogKat (prereader) and MaleficentKnits (beta)**.

* * *

April 6, 1862

He ran as fast as he could. It was as though he hoped to outrun the musket balls being fired at him. The young corporal was racing through the forest after he had gotten separated from his regiment, and now he was running for his life through the trees as a small gang of Union soldiers fired volleys after him. He could hear the balls pierce the air. They whizzed near him, but none hit their intended target.

His sole concern was refuge… which he saw another 30 feet away.

Another ball whizzed by.

20 feet.

Two more balls.

10 feet.

_Phwwwww_ went yet another ball.

Corporal Sumner dove over the fallen tree. Gasping for air, he listened for more projectiles, hearing nothing but silence.

"They've given up," he muttered in between his gasps for more air.

"Nonsense," someone said, calmly and in a deep Texas drawl.

Sumner looked over to see a toeheaded, young man in an officer's uniform, but about his age, seeking refuge behind the same tree no more than ten feet away.

"They're reloading. Give 'em another 15 seconds if you don't believe me," he said. His calm was almost as disturbing as the enemy fire.

"Now that's total buncombe. One Confederate isn't worth this much trouble." The corporal was right in principle, but was blissfully unaware that this was not an organized attack, but a small rogue element of Lew Wallace's "Lost Division" that accidentally arrived behind Confederate lines.

"Then stick your head up," he paused, "in another 7 seconds. 6… 5… 4… 3…" The blonde haired stranger never looked away (did he blink?) as he counted, but slowly bobbed his head as he said each number.

As the count would have hit one, came the all-too familiar sound of musket fire. Within moments there where balls flying within inches of their heads. Then there was a new sound. It was a deep thump, the unmistakable sound of flesh being ripped by a ball. Sumner was so scared he thought the he had been wounded, before finally realizing that the shot itself had landed in the pulp of the tree behind which he was hiding. He never knew how similar those two sounds were…

"Now that's good to know," said the stranger, counting the blasts. "There's only five who followed you."

"Does it matter! They'll kill us soon enough."

"Why's that?" he smiled. "They have to reload."

In that moment, the stranger jumped up scaled the log and, seemingly from nowhere, procured a revolver. In one fell swoop, he glided to his left as he leapt over the tree, and unleashed five, perfectly placed shots; one into each of their attackers. He watched for a moment to confirm that his aim was true before returning to his new colleague, who was still cowering.

"Now what in the hell were you doing bringing them to me?" the stranger asked as he offered his hand to assist the young man up.

"I didn't even know you were there… sir," stammered Sumner refusing the hand, not wanting to get up. "I just got lost and they found me."

"Well, all you succeeded in doing is drawing both their attention and fire in my direction. It has delayed my delivery of Beauregard's orders," he pulled an envelope just far enough out of his pocket to reveal the general's seal, "and he will bear a righteous indignation that I did not deliver these to General Hardee in a more timely fashion. It is most fortunate for you, however, that I did not catch you actual name, Corporal 'Lost'."

And with that Major Jasper Whitlock continued onward to complete his duties as assigned.

Jasper Whitlock was a unique officer in a unique position. Although he was a Major in the Texas 2nd Infantry, Whitlock had been detached to serve temporarily in the Army of Tennessee. When Confederate President Jefferson Davis reassigned General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard from Charleston, SC to serve as second in command to Sydney A. Johnston in Tennessee, Beauregard took it upon himself to hire a new personal aide-de-camp.

Upon learning of his new command, The Fighting Creole contacted fellow Louisianan General Paul O. Hébert, who was overseeing Confederate efforts in Galveston. He reasoned that as Texas was not engaged in active battle, Hébert could spare a trustworthy officer to serve under him as adjutant. Hébert looked no further than a native Texan named Whitlock, whom he recognized as one of the premier up-and-coming officers in all of Texas.

With that, Jasper traveled more than 700 miles to his new assignment in southern Tennessee. Beauregard soon learned why Whitlock had been chosen. His ability to connect with the enlisted soldiers was beyond that of any officer he had ever met. He had a rapport that commanded respect and obedience to orders without making his subordinates feel like underlings. However, even more importantly, his sense of honor and duty knew no equal.

It was this very personal trait that required Jasper to dispatch the five misplaced Union soldiers in haste, so that he could complete the task with which he had been assigned.

"Did he push through Sherman's line?" Beauregard asked as soon as Whitlock returned to Shiloh Church.

"No sir," the Texan replied. "However, he did push Sherman's troops all the way back to Pittsburg Landing. The Hornet's Nest has finally been crushed as well, and Wallace's men are backing up as well."

_Hmmmm…_ Beauregard muttered to himself. He stood at a table, pouring over the map in front of him. He adjusted his troop markers to reflect the most recent reports as they came in. It was already getting late into the afternoon, and soon the early spring sun would be setting.

"Sydney's passed," he said with a sigh.

"Excuse me, sir?" Whitlock was taken quite by surprise.

"Johnston was shot during his charge towards the damn Nest earlier," Beauregard spoke matter-of-factly, "his boot filled with his own blood before anyone realized how badly he was wounded. This happened sometime between two and three, but I was only informed this hour."

Jasper was at a loss for words, but never lost his decorum nor failed to stand at complete attention. Although every soldier knows that death is the constant companion of every battle, somehow he never seemed to think that it would happen to the generals, the conductors of the orchestrated battles that occurred with increasing regularity.

"General Beauregard, sir," even though he didn't know exactly what to say, Jasper always seemed to find the right words, "you have been thrust into the forefront. Whether or not you can lead the Army of Tennessee is not the question. If you are concerned for the men… well you need not worry. They all know that you are the hero of Fort Sumter. Your reputation precedes you, and the men will follow."

The general looked up and the right corner of his mouth creaked slightly upward. In most circumstances this would have gone unnoticed, but under the weight of combat, this was the closest to a smile that anyone could hope for.

He stood upright, pulled out his pocket watch, and then looked outside toward the setting sun.

"They are stuck there at the Landing, and they can rot there for all I care." For the first time all day, Beauregard sounded relieved. "It has been a vicious day, and there has been enough blood. Whitlock, pass the word. Call off the attack. Our men need rest. We shall crush them tomorrow."

"Yes sir!" The yellow-haired Texan saluted and darted out to spread the order.

"…and Whitlock," he called almost as an afterthought, "get a condition report from each sergeant."

"Yes sir,"

"… and I want that five minutes ago!" he called as Jasper continued about his business.

As to be expected, Major Whitlock followed his orders as quickly as possible. Generals Hardee, Bragg, Breckenridge, and Polk all called off their attacks as quickly as was prudent. Although it was almost unheard of for a general to accept an unwritten order from a major, they all wanted the day to end. The battle had waged since first light, and the mental fatigue was almost as excruciating as the physical exhaustion.

The troops slowly withdrew and returned to their campsites. For them the first day of the Battle of Shiloh was ending, but for Jasper and the senior officer corps, this meant that the day was only half over.

Whitlock had extended the order for reports, but he knew that it would take some time for the non-commissioned officers to tally up total losses. These reports never seemed accurate on the ground level. Soldiers could be killed in action, while others were injured and unaccounted for on the battlefield. Yet some simply got lost in the fog of war, or perhaps saw the opportunity to flee (which did not happen very often at this stage of the war). Then there were those enlisted men who turned up elsewhere. The fact remains that at the most manageable level there were too many variables, so the numbers were rather closer to guestimates. However, once written down on paper and reported, these educated guesses became cold hard fact.

As the Major worked his rounds, some junior officers took the liberty of sending their own aides to give reports to the General. While it would seem to confuse the works, Beauregard's staff was exceptionally well prepared to assimilate this information.

However, the greatest effect of what this system did is that it allowed Jasper to hear conversations that he might otherwise not have heard. Because their primary enumerative task was completed, the officers would typically start concocting their plans and reconnaissance for the following day's attack, or questioned the strategies employed that day. Eavesdropping on these informal sessions provided adjutants such as Whitlock with more valuable information than the formal reports.

"Buell is moving in," Whitlock overheard outside of one junior general's tent. "I don't know how many forces he has, but it's gonna give Billy Yank at least another 8,000 troops or so."

Outside of another, "Why'd we push those damn Yanks to the river. We shoulda pushed the flanks left and shoved into that gawdforsaken swamp. That way they'd be totally cut off."

He wanted to announce his presence by saying, 'because if we'd've pushed them into 'that gawdforsaken swamp' we'd have Yankees on front _and _our rear.' Instead, he just held his tongue.

_It's easy enough for them to play that game_, Whitlock reasoned. _All they have to do is follow orders, and raise questions after all is said and done. Making those decisions as fast as reports come in takes a skill that few men possess well._

However, it seemed that once he entered the officers' tents, the second-guessing ceased. It was a natural hazard of his position of adjutant. Once the commanding general's emissary entered, all conversation was sanitized for the official record. However, something was different with Major Whitlock. The shift in conversation was not to hide information, but a result of the sudden shift in atmosphere as he entered the tent. Without knowing why, all of the officers seemed to feel reassured merely by his presence.

Although only a major, if left in a room alone with these men, they would all begin to look for his approval. Jasper's ability to command the attention of those around him was second to none. Perhaps it was his calm demeanor. His presence alone was soothing enough to the many of them that their fears abated their concerns were eased. Perhaps the only exception to this was a rather brash and outspoken Colonel Nathan Bedford Forrest.

"If the enemy comes upon us in the morning," he declared, "we'll be whipped like hell."

Armed with his reports and candid observations, Major Whitlock returned to Shiloh Church to deliver the appropriate information. He hurried as fast as he could, but something unsettling was in the air. He couldn't tell what it was at that moment, but there was something that was out of place after a battle.

He tried to shake off his feelings as he approached the church. Jasper could hear the General before he even got to the door.

"Damn right I want you to quote me! Use those exact words!" He was talking to a captain who was preparing the report to be sent to President Davis. "A COMPLETE VICTORY," he (obviously) repeated in his slow, deliberate, yet distinct Creole accent of his so as not to be misunderstood.

"With all due respect, sir," Jasper started, "is it wise to make such a conclusion before hearing all reports?"

"Whitlock, I've got enough information to declare it the victory that it is," he replied confidently.

"If I may speak more freely, sir…" Jasper trailed off waiting for a response, which he got in the form of a slight nod, as the general motioned the captain off.

"General, I've got some reports from our officers, and two letters here, but I'm hearing some disturbing information being passed around the canteen." He paused; although he had been given permission to speak freely, he knew that he must weigh his words carefully. "Sir, there are reports of General Buell arriving with reinforcements, and he'd have easy access across the landing."

"BUELL?" proclaimed Beauregard, "Buell's no where near here!" He started looking through papers that scattered the table he was using. "He's off for Decatur, Alabama," he held up a piece of paper and looking particularly happy about this news. "Helm just reported that Buell's heading east. I'm not going to waste my time chasing ghosts."

"Of course not sir, but what if it's true? Shouldn't we prepare?"

"There's no need. I've got Grant right where I want him. He's pinned down by the river. Tomorrow, we'll finish this," he said confidently.

"Some of the men, off the record… well… that is to say, I overheard some of the men asking why we didn't just finish them off tonight, before they could get any reinforcements or supplies tonight."

"Whitlock, is this the first time you've seen action?" his voice changed. Although Jasper was worried about offending the General, it seemed to have become more fatherly than annoyed.

"In point of fact, yes sir, it is."

"I've seen it far more than I care to. From as far back as '47 at Contreras in the Mexican War. It's an awful sight." He paused in an almost reminiscent fashion before speaking more quickly, "Grant's barrage of artillery was getting rather formidable there at the end. It's not too much, but more than we could handle after fighting for 12 hours. If I didn't call it off, we would have been cut down like trees before dynamite."

"Sir, my count gives us 20,000 strong available to fight…" he was cut off.

"…And that's more than we would have if we kept pushing Grant. Right now that's more than we need to whip 'em in the morning."

For the first time in their few weeks of working together, Jasper was unsatisfied with their ability to work together. He was truly disappointed with how his boss could simply disregard these concerns. Yet, this was the same P.G.T. Beauregard who had managed to take Fort Sumter without losing a single soldier in battle. Clearly his experience gave him benefit of any doubt. Moreover, the Major knew his place, and it was not over a general.

"So are we prepared for tomorrow?"

"Very nearly. I shall have you deliver orders soon enough," Beauregard replied.

"By your leave if I may, sir." The major was still somewhat frustrated.

"Certainly Whitlock. Get a drink and return within the half hour."

"I am obliged, sir."

Jasper wasted no time extracting himself from that table or from that room. His frustrations with battle were many. There were the many unanswered questions, the second-guessing of junior officers, having to defend each individual decision. Then there was even his concern over the impending telegram to Jefferson Davis declaring total victory.

He needed a few moments to breathe. A few minutes in the air outside were all that he needed, although a walk would help, too. The sun had set and the cool spring night had settled upon the Tennessee countryside. The night was clear and would be chilled by morning. He stepped further into the clearing, away from the church, so that he could enjoy the stars, but he was careful to remain within earshot, in case he was called for.

…and then it hit him. Earshot. That is what was wrong with the after action reports. He could still hear mortars firing occasionally, but that sound was secondary to the main concern he had. He could hear the moaning and wailing of the wounded. It was not just coming from the hospital, or the ambulances. Instead it was coming from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.

He wanted to identify the source, but as he moved north toward the battlefield, the sounds simply continued getting louder, from all around.

_Twenty thousand men, _he thought. _If we have only twenty thousand men… that means that we have approximately 5,000 men dead, wounded, or missing. Of course, if some of these men are dead, how many are wounded and left wanting for help? If that's the damage to our side, how many more must there be from the Union… _

He slowly drew ever closer to the fields. Jasper was once again experiencing something new, something he had never noticed before: compassion. He felt sorry for all those who were suffering. He drew some comfort in knowing that he was not responsible for any of the suffering. Those men that he killed died quickly. At least three died before they even knew what happened. Looking back on it, he was surprised to see how calm and collected he felt there in the thick of the fight. It was standing on the sidelines delivering orders that made him more uncomfortable. The great irony is that it was this highly coveted "safe assignment" that made him feel more out of place than being on the front lines.

Jasper Whitlock was coming to realize that his role as adjutant, although honorable, was not where his natural abilities lie. He finally saw himself for what he is. The world of messages and personal duties took away his talents. Instead he was fulfilling orders rather than being what he was meant to be: a man of action. Little did he know, that his time for taking action would soon arrive.


	2. Confrontation

**A/N: Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer, but all of the other characters belong to history or my imagination. Once again, I express my love and appreciation to Wuogkat and MaleficentKnits for their help. I hope you enjoy. Please read and comment!  
**

6 June 1862

Major Whitlock had been given a half hour reprieve, and his thoughts were getting the best of him. While he had spent the day delivering messages and running errands, he had hardly managed to see any actual fighting. The only exception being a rather unique incident with an unknown corporal who had been chased his way accidentally. The cries and the moans from the battlefield and hospitals were everywhere. Some men would be haunted by that sound and not able to sleep that night, it was something completely different to Jasper Whitlock. He first noticed it like someone would have heard cattle lowing, but as it continued, it consumed his curiosity. It was turning into a siren's song… drawing him to the battlefield to witness, first hand, the full effects of this godforsaken war.

Without realizing what he was doing, Jasper's feet took him just out of earshot from the church.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he started to follow the siren's song that called to his curiosity. He moved with interest northward, from the church toward the Confederate camps that stood between him and the battlefield.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the intoxication vanished. Union forces had begun another barrage of mortar fire, and the new sounds sobered him up immediately. At this point, however, Jasper's curiosity had gotten then better of him. He still wanted to see the battlefield first hand. While the venture may take more than the thirty-minute reprieve he had been granted, he had a logical excuse.

_Sir_, he thought of the excuse, _I simply wanted to ensure the accuracy of the reports that we have received_. It provided logical and plausible deniability for his tardiness. With this thought in mind, he quickened his pace to the camps.

The smell of evening chow was the first thing he noticed as he drew nearer to the camps; this was something that had not been there earlier while visiting the officers. He had always known that the enlisted men did not eat as well as the officers, but the odors emanating from this mess made him question the edibility of their food. He wondered, briefly, if this difference was a because of life on the front lines, or if it was simply how things worked in Tennessee. Regardless of the reason, his sympathy was building in a way that he had not expected.

As he approached the camp, Jasper saw the brigadier general's tent that he had visited just a couple of hours previously, butted up next to a massive oak tree that offered both shade in the day and some level of protection from rain, should it come. It was the simple things like this that truly separated the officers from the rank and file enlisted soldiers. The major slipped past the general's tent as quickly and quietly as he could, managing to go unnoticed, just as he had hoped.

He was now into the camp.

In Texas, Major Whitlock was no stranger to the enlisted men. They knew who he was, and he knew many of the men under his command personally. He possessed a great empathy with them for their role in the chain of command, which he understood to be at the bottom, like the chain links that drag upon the ground and are ignored unless needed. His men knew how he felt. It was not in any particular thing that he had done, but simply in how they felt around him. There was a peace about Jasper Whitlock that the enlisted men felt. It made them work for him as they would for their fathers and not as a commanding officer.

This camp, however, was different, and Jasper could tell that from the beginning. He had done many drills back in the Texas 2nd with his men, but he had never truly bivouacked with them.

He saw the lines of tents and with men sticking partway out of them, a head here or a pair of feet there. In some places, men crowded around a tent or two, engaged in some form of gambling or tomfoolery. Of course there were others who were just hoping to sleep. He stood there for a moment, taking in all that he could before he passed this last stage heading to the battlefield. He noticed one thing that to which he had never paid attention before: the way men used their bayonets.

Without doubt, the bayonet was the least preferred method of self-defense. If a soldier had to resort to using it, he was either out of ammunition or way too damn close to the enemy; sometimes it was a sad combination of both. It was a slow and deliberate weapon that required the ability, strength, and agility of wielding a massive musket. However, off the battlefield, the Enfield Bayonet was one of the more useful tools in the camp. It was utilized as a knife, an emergency tent peg, or any other number of uses. Yet the most intriguing and perhaps most ingenious was seeing so many of the bayonets simply shoved into the ground and used as a candleholder. The socket at the end, which affixed it to the barrel of the soldier's musket, was perfect for a candle. Because of this, there were many men laying on their ground cloths either composing or rereading letters from loved ones, all the while providing a lit path through the camp.

After today's battle, there were an exceptionally large number of men either writing letters or dictating to those who could write. Jasper could sense… no he could feel... feel the fear that hovered over the camp. No man present had ever seen a battle that raged like this first day at Shiloh. Although many of them had guessed in exaggeration, they were correct that this was the single worst and most destructive day of battle in American history up to that day.

While he stood there, a short way into the first row of tents, a few of the men had noticed him, and begun to whisper about what a major might be doing there. No one recognized him from their regiment, which led them to believe that he was either lost or on a mission.

Jasper walked past a few tents and stopped at one where a dark-haired young man, a little younger than him, laid on his ground cloth penning a letter.

"Who's the letter to?" Jasper asked in a warm voice.

"My family," he responded simply, but obviously holding back tears. The private didn't even bother to get up much less try to stand at attention. Contrary to what some men assumed, this lack of respect did not bother Whitlock in the slightest.

"You're scared aren't you?" There was a pause while he let the young man search for the words he wanted, but he could not find them. Instead, he dropped his head. Jasper took a step closer, squatted down beside him, put a hand on the boy's back, and whispered something in his ear. No one knew what he said, but everyone who witnessed this was moved and felt an increase in both courage and spirit.

After a few moments of whispering, Whitlock stood up and took a step away intending to continue through the camp to the battlefield.

"Thank you," the private said eagerly, with the same tone that a boy would give to a father figure. Jasper stopped.

"Remember that and you'll be just fine," Whitlock replied. He gave the private a knowing nod and took a step away. Immediately men circled the private and asked what had been said. Jasper knew that men would talk, but…

"You have a fiddle?" he asked another soldier who was standing nearby. "If so, then put it to some good use." His comfort was for that one boy, not the entire company. He not only wanted to take the focus off of the private, but also to change the atmosphere as quickly as possible.

He returned from his tent with the same haste as he had been ordered. The soldier carried an old violin in hand, stood at the edge of the makeshift group, and pulled the bow slowly across the strings producing a long, slow, mournful note.

"Something cheerful and happy," Jasper whispered to the violinist. It was as though he hadn't heard the major because his second stroke of the bow was equally soulful.

Then, all at once, the song quickened pace. The young man's fingers sprang to life and pealed out a rousing jig. It was an original American tune, inspired by the native sounds of his Celtic ancestors. This style of hybrid song was familiar to many native to the Tennessee mountains. It reminded them of home, and certainly drew the attention of men from all around.

Jasper knew just what they needed to liven their spirits and get them past that day's events. With a slight smile, he moved along through the camp, when he saw another soldier with a guitar hurrying toward the music, and smiled within himself at the impromptu concert that was starting. He listened for a moment as the solo became a duet. He noticed that the music followed the rhythmic pounding of the distant artillery now creating an oddly appropriate trio. The music was still turning heads and nearly guaranteed that men were looking at him when he walked through the aisles of tents.

His pace was unaffected by the stares that he received; in fact he was impervious to them. Even the comments made under one's breath were ignored. That was until...

"Just another damn child brevet* who thinks war is about honor and glory," a voice called out. "I'll bet he couldn't find a lass's ass without a map and compass."

Major Whitlock stopped in his tracks and turned to his left. The speaker was a middle-aged man who stood with his uniform shirt on, but unbuttoned. The three stripes on his sleeve showed that he was a sergeant. It was easy to determine the guilty party. Not only had the sergeant in question stood like an iron post, staring at the major, but the innocent men made themselves look busy or uninvolved.

"Do you have a problem with my rank? Or my age?" Jasper asked calmly, accentuating his Texas drawl.

"I'm terribly sorry, Major, if you misheard me," the sergeant stated. It was as disingenuous an excuse as anyone had ever heard. If, however, an NCO was going to go on the record in a conversation with an officer, there were certain things that had to be said. "I have no problem with you... Sir." The pause and last final sir, oozed with contempt.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Sergeant. Is there anything with which you do have a particular disagreement?" Jasper asked, maintaining a coolness in his demeanor.

"I don't think that there is anything in particular, Sir. Perhaps I'm fatigued at this day's end." His voice had lightened a little bit as Jasper's demeanor had begun to affect him, but the sarcasm remained clearly present in his voice. "Actual fighting can effect those on the battle's front... even those of us who are used to an honest day's work."

The innuendo was clear. Jasper could sense the Sergeant's anger for him. Now it was obvious that he viewed the Major as another Academy boy who came from a family of means. This was not an uncommon emotion for older soldiers to feel towards the junior officers like him young enough to be their sons.

"What kind of farm did you have?" Jasper inquired.

The sergeant was surprised by the question and this visibly affected his demeanor.

"You were a farmer, right?" he asked, guessing at the man's antebellum life, but felt it was a safe bet.

"Yessir," he muttered, "corn mostly."

"Large farm?"

"Err...," the Sergeant was now completely at a loss. The shift in questioning had taken him so much by surprise that he did not know how to react. "Naw sir... just a few acres. Too small t'compete with all the cawtton."

In these few brief moments of conversation, there was more at play than many witnesses realized. The Major's demeanor and questions of home stripped the soldier of his anger. Jasper (and everyone else for that matter) could feel the distinct change in the atmosphere, but the Sergeant's drawl confirmed his relaxation.

"Who worked it with you?"

"Not many folks. Jes' m'self, brother, and my two sons," he said. "W'made 'nuff to git by, and eat decent enough."

"Jasper Whitlock," he responded while stepping forward, offering his hand.

"Zebulon Adams," the sergeant replied, but quickly adding, "they call me 'Zeb'."

"Well tell me about your family, Zeb."

The exchange shifted from an interrogation to a conversation. It started just as a means to to calm Zeb down. His initial plan worked; as Zebulon talked about home, he moved from angered to frustrated to calm and finally nostalgic.

"...the mizzez would call round about an hour b'fore dusk an' we'd come in from the fields..."

However, the unexpected part was that Jasper came to sympathize with him. The picture he painted of home made him downright homesick.

"...the first time I saw me son bring home a deer, I know'd he was a man. I taught him to do right by God, but don't know what he's a doin' now," he paused, obviously looking for the words. "I know'd he got the spirit of man, but jes' being fourteen, I don't know if he's growed up enough to run the fields with his brother now that Jeff and I are off."

This is when Jasper finally began to understand Zeb's real concerns. He was another man who enlisted expecting a short war; a war that would involve one skirmish and then the politicians would find a way to end it. Instead, Bull Run showed clearly that this war was neither to be short, nor resolved by politicians. Now here stood a man who was concerned about whether his sons could maintain the farm and their livelihoods with both men off fighting in the war.

Clearly Jasper's countenance had changed. He wanted to help out this man, but there was nothing he could do. He had built a rapport with Zeb and felt his emotions. Which is why what happened next surprised him almost as much as it did anyone else who was present.

"So what was that about a 'child brevet'?" Major Whitlock demanded.

"Excuse me, Sir?" the sergeant responded, snapping back suddenly from the home in his thoughts.

"I'm hardly a child and certainly not brevetted. I'm sure you're thinkin' I'm one of those academy boys, but rest assured I grew up workin' fields like you and your boys," the Major's tone was firm, but not angry.

"Sir, I don't think you understand," he replied almost pleadingly.

"Of course I understand," he paused, "but if all you can do is dream of home, why don't you just head back!"

Major Whitlock turned to his left as if to leave, and then it happened. Acting faster than anyone could have imagined or responded, Whitlock turned back to his right and swung a hard, closed fist backhanding the sergeant in the face, knocking him to the ground. A rush of enlisted men started moving in instinctively, but quickly stopped, almost in unison, recognizing that they could not threaten an officer. Zeb Adams rested there briefly with blood already oozing already from his hand covering his mouth. He then spat out a tooth onto the ground.

"Just one?" the Major stated more than he asked. He then grabbed the collar of the man nearly old enough to be his father with his left hand and delivered a fierce right punch again to the man's mouth, knocking out a second tooth.

Men stood around flabbergasted. They were in shock having witnessed this sight before them. Zeb was laying on the ground, resting on one elbow, while still holding his mouth. He was dazed, but as his he regained his senses, Zeb looked up, opened up his blood-filled mouth and mumbled, "Fank you, Sir."

Jasper straightened up his uniform, and then began massaging his now hurt right hand with the other. There was silence on their row as Jasper and Zebulon stared at each other. They were, however, sandwiched between the only other sounds that were nearby: music from deeper in the camp and the moans of the wounded still on the battlefield.

"Anytime," Jasper said with true meaning, almost with caring, and then he finally turned and walked finally toward the site of that day's carnage. Those who had seen what had just happened cleared a hole wide enough for a caisson** before the officer got anywhere near them. They were shocked at what they just saw.

It is no surprise that he cleared the camp and made it down onto the actual battlefield with no further discussion or interaction with the soldiers. Jasper was not only fine with this, but he was quite relieved. He did not want to confront anyone about what he had just done. He was sure that his actions had been misunderstood. What witnesses viewed as a barbaric act, an assault, Jasper saw as the only way to help him.

Those who served in the army already understood the importance of teeth. Soldiers received paper cartridges to speed the process of loading their muskets. In order to properly use these, they must first bite off one end of the paper in order to pour out a certain measure of gunpowder into the musket's flash pan. If a potential recruit lacked his two front teeth, he was not accepted into the service as he would be physically unable to perform this simple, but essential task.

To date, all soldiers signed up on a purely voluntary basis. In the early days of secession, there was intense nationalism and support of states' rights. Men enlisted in droves in support of their fledgling nation, fully expecting a quick and decisive end to the conflict between the two nations. Men of all ages signed up, and Whitlock was no exception. Although underage, he was able to convince certain officials that he was of age. In all reality, it was not too difficult to do as too few questioned the ages of any recruits.

However, as the war continued to drag along, recruits were increasingly difficult to find. So much so that the Confederate Congress was in the final stages of implementing the Conscription Act, which would authorize a nationwide draft. While the political implications of this would be severely damaging to the strength and influence of the Confederate government, the popular effects of this were detrimental.

Later in the war, unwilling conscripts would find many diverse ways to avoid the war, the easiest of which was to make oneself physically incapable of serving. In later years simply knocking out one's own teeth came to be a common practice. However, here at Shiloh (less than a fortnight prior to the institution of the Conscription Act), very few had seen or heard of the practice.

Major Whitlock, on the other hand, had to deal with this situation twice in Texas. He knew that without those two front teeth, there was no choice but to take a man off the front lines of the battlefield. While his attack seemed vicious, it was motivated by the desire to find a way to allow Zeb Adams a way out. Now, there was no choice by to send him home, back to his farm, and back to his family.

Indeed, what he had just done was motivated by the one dominating trait that he possessed: compassion.

Jasper possessed neither the time nor the patience to vocalize any of this. With all of these elements tying together, there simply was no way to explain why he had just assaulted Sergeant Adams. Jasper hoped that his actions were understood, and believed they were with Zeb's 'thank you.' That is why he offered a genuine and heartfelt response.

Yet, just as his compassion had led him to take the sergeant's teeth, it was his compassion that led his feet through the camp and onto the edge of the field itself. The moon cast an eerie light upon the field and the wounded. The sounds of men calling for help and the moans of despair affected him too. However it was here at Shiloh that for the first time in his life, Jasper Whitlock understood that he did not just understand emotions and empathize with others, but that he truly knew and felt what they did. He was flooded and he was overwhelmed, but he would have given anything for this experience.

Footnotes:

*Brevet – a temporary advancement in military rank, usually during wartime. Because brevetting was common in the Civil War, many younger officers held ranks higher than was common for their age. One of the most well known is Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer, who was given a temporary rank of Major General During the American Civil War.

**Caisson – This is a two-wheeled cart that carried ammunition for field artillery. By the time of the Civil War it was a horse-drawn, 4-wheeled carriage attached to the same cart that carried the field guns or cannons.


	3. The Battlefield

**A/N: As per usual, the legal stuff is that Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer, the generals belong to history, and the rest belong to my over active imagination. Special thanks to the two wonderful readers who put up with and clean up my work: WuogKat and MaleficnetKnits. They are both very wonderful! I know that this is not your typical Jasper fic, but I hope that you can enjoy the way I see his life before his transformation. Please comment so that I know what you think and how I can improve my take on Jasper's last days as a mortal. **

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April 6, 1862

It had only been a few hours since the first day of combat had ended at Shiloh. The Confederate Army of Mississippi had fought valiantly and struck some major blows to the Union's forces. Even though General Johnston had died in combat earlier in the day, General Beauregard stepped up and led his corps of subordinate generals to a clear victory in the first day of battle. General Grant had been pushed back and pinned down against the Tennessee River. It seemed to Beauregard that all Grant could do to thwart total Confederate victory was to intimidate them with a sporadic, but never ending, barrage of mortar fire throughout the night.

As for Major Jasper Whitlock, this was his first taste of true combat. He had trained well with his home unit, the Texas 2nd Infantry, but had been denied the opportunity to witness a battle until he was sent from Texas to serve as Beauregard's personal adjutant. It was here on the Tennessee/Mississippi border that the Texas native finally had the chance to test himself. He always wondered how he would handle himself in a life or death situation.

Just hours earlier, while attempting to deliver a message, Jasper had gotten pinned down by a small, rogue element of Union forces. Not only had he remained calm, but he also dispatched the enemy with all haste and saved the life of a corporal whose name he still did not know. In his mind, he had passed the test. He now knew that he would not falter in the line of fire.

But now that he knew how to live... how could he handle death? This is what brought him here. To the edge of the battlefield, where so much life had ended that day.

To call this a battlefield is a misnomer; it wasn't much of a field. The fight had taken place largely in a forest between a slight bend in the Mississippi River and a swamp to the west. There were plenty of open patches, but there were also some small hills, which created an interesting geography that added to the difficulties of the campaign.

To make matters worse, the battle had forced regiments to advance and retreat. The constant ebb and flow of these movements prevented Jasper from finding any one, clear battlefield.

There were bodies all over the place, both Union and Confederate, most of them were dead, but there were still plenty with life left in them. Jasper was surrounded with moans and crying, with an occasional, clear voice asking for mom, help, or God.

In the pale, but clear, moonlight Jasper saw what was perhaps the most intriguing sight on the field. One of the bodies laid there with what appeared to be a stick in it.

_That can't be a bayonet, _he thought, _and it's too short to be an officer's saber. _

Unsure of what this could be, he neared it, stepping over bodies and body parts, fallen or discarded weapons, and other debris left by the day's fighting. The object was far too straight to be natural, but he could not imagine what weapon of war caused this casualty. Now on top of the scene, he could tell that the end was metal, and flared out from the shaft...

"A ramrod?"* Jasper breathed, asking no one in particular.

_Why would anyone shoot... or be shot with a ramrod?_

It was a small detail, but one that Major Whitlock had understood.

He looked around, and squinted his eyes, attempting to use every bit of light offered by the moon that evening. For the first time, he realized where he was: The Hornet's Nest! Jasper had walked barely over a mile from Shiloh Church where General Beauregard had established his base of operations. He was standing near the "Sunken Road" of what had been the Hornet's Nest, which was the spot that had been held for so long by Union forces. The fierce confrontation here meant that any number of things could have happened.

Jasper pulled the rod from the soldier's body and examined the scene closely. It had penetrated nearly six inches... and Jasper realized that he had been shot at point blank. And so the pieces finally came together.

"Fog of war,"* he breathed out loud, excited that he realized the culprit.

He looked around, until he had circled twice, examining the area until he could clearly visualize the scene as it played out:

Confederate forces advanced on the Nest, charging and firing as they went, stopping only to reload. Soldiers were being cut down as they ran. The only strategy was to send more men than the enemy had musket balls. In the midst of the carnage, one soldier in particular managed to get to the enemy's embankment. He stood there, ready to fire, having saved his shot from the last time he reloaded. There was no way to know how far he had run or how many volleys of musket balls he had to pass in order to make it that close, all the while fighting the urge the fire. This was the visceral and instinctual response that any soldier would have: self-preservation. Instead, he fought this desire, and ran through his fear to make it here. He stood at the pikes protecting the Nest, and raised his musket to fire at the first threat he saw. But did he know then that he had lost his ramrod? Without this tool, there was no way to reload, which meant that the bayonet was the only weapon he had left.

_How long before he died? _Jasper wondered to himself. Jasper could only imagine the kind of fear that the poor man felt as he went into the Nest nearly defenseless. _Did he stand there thinking about what to do, or was he killed as soon as he shot? Perhaps he tried to reload only then learning of his mistake._

As stood there pondering this, there was something that caught his attention. There was someone, a good thirty feet off, lying on the ground going through the coat of a dead soldier. From this distance, and in this light, there was no way of identifying uniforms or sides, but certainly, out of respect for the dead, it did not matter.

Jasper dropped the rod as he started to close that gap as quickly as he could, being careful however, knowing that he was drawing closer to northern lines. As he drew within earshot, the uniforms were unmistakable: one Union soldier was raiding another.

"Let the dead rest," Jasper ordered in an authoritative voice.

"...let... her... mine... his...," the man mumbled.

"I said 'let him be'," his voice was sterner than before, "I will not say it again."

"...let... her...," he trailed off.

Jasper realized that the man was not mumbling, but breathing. He stepped forward and dropped to his knees. He could see the man was wounded, and horribly so. The blood had matched his uniform, and the Major had not realized how severely this man had been injured. He wasn't stealing from the dead, but what was he doing?

"Let her what?" Jasper offered, now trying speaking far more calmly. "What do you need?"

"...no... let... her...," his hand was feeling inside the coat.

"Don't let her?" Jasper was confused. _This is a "man" not a "her," _he thought.

"...mine...," he said again in between labored breaths.

Jasper took a deep breath, took the wounded man's free hand, and held it. As he did, he felt the man's muscles relax. His breathing was slightly less labored. Jasper knew that he was helping this man calm down and tried again.

"What do you need?" he asked in a soothing voice this time.

The man breathed deeply.

"Let... her..."

Suddenly he realized his mistake.

"A letter? He has your letter?" Jasper asked.

The man responded with a half nod and a slight smile. Jasper picked up where the stranger had left off, his hands moving quickly from one pocket to the next. In what seemed like no time, he found a piece of paper in the outside left pocket. Straining his eyes in the limited light, Jasper could see some words on the outside of the folded piece of paper. It appeared to be addressed to, not from, the Purdy family in Ohio.

"Are you Purdy?"

Again, the soldier attempted to nod as he pulled his free hand away from the body.

"Let... ter...," he said again tapping his right trousers' pocket with all the energy he could muster.

Thinking that Purdy wanted the letter back, he moved to put it in the pocket, only to find something already there. Jasper pulled it out only to find another piece of paper folded into thirds. On one side was another Ohio address.

"Ahh...," Jasper hadn't meant to vocalize his revelation.

These men were letter carriers for each other. Each man had written a letter to his family and given it to the other. The idea was that if one man died in battle, the other would mail it home. Jasper had never heard of this before, but it was a comforting idea. You could go into the fight knowing that your loved ones would receive more than a simple letter from the government informing them of your death. The only flaw with this plan was if both men died.

"Post..." Purdy breathed.

"You want them mailed?" Jasper asked.

The man moaned.

"I swear upon my honor of my father's soul, your family will get this."

Purdy started to cry. Jasper could tell that these were not tears of sorrow or pain, but of relief. It was the only thing that he had left to do.

"I will return," Jasper said, collecting the two letters and standing up. "I promise."

With the letters in his left hand, Jasper fished his white kerchief from a pocket and held it between two fingers above his head as he walked toward Union lines. He was nervous about this decision, but resolute. He had felt just how concerned Purdy was about this, and perhaps nothing would comfort him more than knowing they were to be delivered. Jasper did not know exactly where the edge of the battlefield was, but the camps were no more than a few hundred yards to the northeast.

He felt confident that he would be safe as he was clearly unarmed and by himself. With this, he quickened his pace and cleared fifty yards in no time, nearing the first clump of tree on the other side of the Hornet's Nest.

"Who be there!" a voice called out from his left as a man hurried toward him with a musket pointed squarely on him.

Jasper was taken by such surprise that he had no response at first. Instead of answering he stared at the bayonet a few inches from his face.

"I said, 'who be there?'," said a voice, not from behind the gun, but from the bushes.

Jasper could sense the fear.

"Major Jasper Whitlock, of the Texas 2nd, assigned to the Army of Mississippi," he said calmly, but without his usual Texas drawl. "I have letters to deliver."

"Hogwash!" said the disembodied voice.

"You have no need to fear," he said soothingly, "not only do I have no weapon, but there is one of me to at least two of you." Jasper spoke staring directly into the eyes of the man holding the weapon before him. "Clearly I am disadvantaged."

"Do you think we're that stupid?" the voice asked.

"Do you think I have need to lie?" he retorted, slowly shaking the hand with the letters so as to remind them of his excuse.

Throughout this day, Jasper had come to be more aware of his senses and surroundings. He had believed that in some of the cases, he could truly feel what others around him were feeling. This had allowed him to affect various situations, but for the first time, he was feeling something differently. It seemed that he felt both peace and fear. These two emotions were both as clear as the moonlight in which he stood. How could this be?

Jasper felt calmer than before, but the fear was there. He took his eyes off of the soldier before him and looked towards the bushes from which the voice kept coming. Instantly, fear and loathing overtook the peace he had felt. He knew that the fear was not his own, but coming from the man who refused to show himself.

"Give me one good reason not to shoot you right now!" demanded the voice.

Whitlock could tell that this situation was going to escalate quickly. If he didn't take action first, it would go well beyond his control.

He looked away from the voice, and back to the young man across from him.

"I am on a mission of mercy. A couple of your men who died today had these letters for their families. I just want you to send them home." Jasper was cooler than even he imagined he could be staring down a gun.

"It's a DAMN DIRTY LIE!" shouted the voice, "ain't no Major gonna deliver the post!"

Whitlock knew the confrontation was lost. He knew that the man in front of him was calmer, and needed to take advantage of that fact. Clearly he would respond slower than the man looking for a fight. Jasper just hoped that there were, indeed, only two soldiers. He took action, moving faster than either of the Union soldiers.

Jasper dropped the letters and kerchief simultaneously; his hands worked independently of each other as though he had practiced a move such as this. His right hand drew his pistol and fired to where the voice had been, while his left hand grabbed the bayonet and shoved the musket backward. This latter maneuver startled the young man so much that he recoiled rather than attempting to attack.

Jasper, still holding onto the bayonet, released the pistol, swung his right arm around, and slapped the barrel of the musket hard enough that he was able to swing it around his head. He brought it around so as to swing the weapon like a long bat and knocked the boy's legs out from under him. Then, tossing the gun slightly in the air, he caught it mid-barrel, and plunged the bayonet straight toward the frightened soldier. Instead of hitting him, however, Jasper was careful to use the barrel's pike not to injure, but to pin the young man's wool coat to the ground just below the pit of an outstretched arm. He also made sure to use this maneuver to hit the ground himself and collect his pistol.

The entirety of this sweeping smooth, but complicated attack, took no more than three seconds, although to the Major, it seemed to last minutes. His concern was to ensure that he had either scared off or killed the unseen soldier. At this moment, the only emotion he could sense was fear, but that was clearly from the soldier pinned to the ground a few feet from him. Jasper needed to rely on a more traditional means of assessing the situation. He strained his senses as he listened for breathing and looked through the limited light for any signs of movement.

After what seemed to be another few minutes (although it was not more than a few seconds), the Major looked around to recollect the pieces of paper and his own kerchief. He returned to the pinned soldier who was in a full panic attack from his fear at that moment.

Even Jasper was surprised at his own level of comfort and calm at the situation. He attempted to use his own feelings to calm the soldier.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said coolly. "You're not hurt, you're just scared."

The man's breathing was erratic, but slowly started to relax. Jasper continued, equally as soothing as before.

"I have two letters that need to be sent to Ohio. I got them from a couple of Yanks who died today." Jasper didn't intend to use this derogatory term, but he was rather frustrated at the situation in which he found himself.

The soldier wrested his body in an attempt to free himself.

"Listen to me," Jasper spoke like a father to the young man. "I'm going to free you. Don't do anything stupid."

He got to his feet and struggled briefly as he pulled the musket from the ground. He hadn't realized how much force he had used to stick it there. This soldier's fear was fairly understandable now. Fortunately, Jasper's was able to calm him down exactly as he had planned to.

He tossed the musket a few feet away, and offered a hand to help the soldier to his feet.

"Now, will you do this?" he asked.

"Do what?" the soldier replied. Although he had returned to his senses, he had panicked so badly that he had not heard anything that the Major had just told him.

"Mail these letters to Ohio." He wanted to be brief rather than try to explain the entirety of the situation. "There are some families who need to hear from their sons."

The soldier nodded his agreement. Jasper pushed the pieces of paper into the soldier's hand, winked, turned and disappeared into the night.

Within a few moments, he had returned to Purdy laying there in the Sunken Road.

"It's done," he said as he approached the wounded man.

There was no response.

"The post will be delivered to both of your..."

Jasper sensed it before he consciously recognized it. Purdy had died while he was off. He looked the scene over and could see two clean lines on Purdy's face from the tears. His eyes remained open, but lifeless. Yet what struck Jasper the most was noticing that Purdy had laid there in his last moments seeking whatever comfort he could. He died holding his friend's hand.

Jasper could not know that they had been best friends in life. Like so many in the first year of the War they enlisted together, hoping to be there the day it ended in glory for their side. Unfortunately, far too many young men were naïve on both sides of the conflict. They were both nearing the end of their one-year enlistment, and both had planned not to re-enlist. Jasper did not know any of their history. He only knew that they had each other in death. The unnamed soldier's last act in this life, even after his life, was to take his friend across the same chasm of death that he had only recently traversed himself.

Jasper sat there for a moment.

He finally began to see the great dichotomy of war. He personally sorrowed for the death that occurs, even if it is the deaths of some damned Yankees. He hated that they invaded his fledgling nation, but he did not hate them. Now here he was grieving over the death of one man, when only moments previously he had attempted to kill a man in the bushes in defense of his own life.

Jasper was perhaps the most compassionate man at Shiloh, but he was also one of the most deadly when faced with his own preservation. And so he realized that the dichotomy was not just with war, but with all who fought in it. Finally, he found what he had come to the battlefield for in the first place. The siren's song had called to him, and he truly understood the horror behind the beauty...

There was shelling in the distance. Men were moaning, crying, and calling for help from mom or God.

The noises of the battle's aftermath had never ceased, but the sounds were finally returning to him. In that moment Jasper became Major Whitlock again. He did not know how long he had been gone, but surely he had taken more than the half hour reprieve that the General had given him. He stood up and took off at a quickened pace. Except for being stopped by a sentry as he approached Confederate lines, Major Whitlock had no delays in returning to the church. He was careful, however, not to return via the same route he had come lest he run into any further confrontations with the enlisted men.

He knew he was going to be late, which sickened him. Although it was not his preferred assignment, Major Whitlock's sense of duty and honor required him to return to his place at Beauregard's side. It was late, but there was still much to be done in order to prepare for the next day's impending battle.

_* A ramrod was tool essential to reloading a musket. Prior to the invention of modern bullets, the gunpowder, wad, and ball were inserted into the barrel, and the ramrod was used to push it down the length of the barrel. It commonly attached to the bottom of the barrel for storage when not in use. _

_*Fog of war - This is term that is used to describe lack of situational awareness that some men experience in combat. In this state, they are prone to making any number of errors which may seem irrational or thoughtless. _


	4. Actions and Consequences

**A/N: I am indebted to my wonderful prereader and beta: Wuogkat and MaleficentKnits, respectively. They are both wonderful and patient. As for ownership, ****Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. P. G. T. Beauregard belongs to history. The rest belongs to my overactive imagination. **

**And to my readers, very soon your patience will be rewarded. In the coming chapters Jasper will be off the battlefield and into his more "normal" life. I hope you enjoy. Please review and share your thoughts!**

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April 6, 1862

"You're late," Beauregard said as Major Whitlock entered the church.

"My deepest apologies, sir. I made my way to witness the field and front lines personally." Jasper could feel the frustration in Beauregard's voice and demeanor.

"I didn't give you any such order. That's what I have other officers for. They're managing their own reconnaissance," he said very matter-of-factly.

"Yes'sir," Jasper drawled naturally. "It shant happen again, sir."

"Well, since you were down there, make yourself useful. What did you see?" Beauregard spoke in the same, obviously irritated tone .

This was a difficult question for the Major as he had not actually been down on the battlefield for the purpose of reconnaissance, but to satisfy his own curiosity regarding the more intimate details of combat. His revelations and understandings, while valuable to him personally, did absolutely nothing for the benefit of the General strategically or anecdotally. Certainly there was no way that he could

divulge that he had been giving comfort to the Union wounded, much less that he risked his own life for what amounted to a personal favor.

"Union sentries are surprisingly close to our lines," he attempted to glean whatever useful information he could from his encounter. "I'd place them no more than fifty yards from the Sunken Road."

"Hmmmmm..." Beauregard uttered as he shifted some papers around on his desk. "I've got a report here from Gen. Bragg stating that their lines are much further back... to the tune of two hundred yards."

The General sat there looking down at the paperwork, but clearly looking for a response.

"Yes'sir," Jasper filled the silence, "but I feel quite cert'in they are doing there own reconnaissance as much as anything else. Dare I say, sir, that we might well expect an advance tomorrow morning."

Jasper could feel Beauregard's displeasure, but what he did not know was the object of that displeasure. Was it the news? Perhaps it was his prediction. Jasper simply could not tell regardless of how much he focused his energy.

"Hmph..." the General sounded again. Then, after a deep inhalation, "I don't think so. They're going to bide their time tonight and then retreat in the morning. We'll just provide the encouragement."

"Sir," Whitlock interjected, "with all due deference, I must disagree. I've been closer to the line than..."

Beauregard gave him a look and simply raised one finger, but not his arm. The intent and impending order was painfully clear. Jasper may have disagreed with his commanding officer's assessment, but he understood the chain of command. He stood there silently waiting to be called upon.

"Captain!" the General called. In a moment, a young man only slightly older than Jasper came in from outside. His cut and demeanor reeked of the Academy. Clearly, this was a West Point product, and most likely one of the last to come through before secession. Beauregard picked up a small stack of five envelopes and handed them to the young officer with instructions to deliver these to the five subordinate generals in their respective camps.

Jasper, was somewhat surprised. Although this errand could easily be done by any member of the General's staff, it was something that was normally entrusted to him as aide-de-camp. Jasper watched the captain dutifully stow the envelopes away and take off with haste.

"Sit down," Beauregard requested as soon as the captain had cleared the door. "Gentleman," he then announced to the various other officers scurrying about the room, "give me a moment."

The General was similar to Jasper in that he knew how to lead men in a manner that made them know exactly what was wanted and expected without having to give every detail of his orders. This was important because the one-roomed church, although sufficient for coordinating the current battle, it offered little privacy. The other officers dutifully removed themselves, affording Beauregard and Whitlock the privacy requested.

"I'll need you to deliver this to Hébert," Beauregard stated as he leaned forward pushing a sealed letter partway across the desk toward the Major.

"But sir..." Jasper was completely shocked by this order. "General Hébert is down in Galveston," he responded incredulously.

"I know."

The simplicity of this response only added to the insult and hurt that Jasper was feeling.

"Surely there is no need to send _me _on such an errand, sir," Jasper was searching for the right words.

"Tis a letter, personal in nature, and I trust none other with such a charge."

"With all due deference, General, I am of greater use than that of a post man," Jasper could sense the futility of his arguments, and moved from imploring to being obstinate. "Use me in any manner you see fit, but there is no need to send me three states for the purpose of a personal errand."

Beauregard could sense Whitlock's frustration, and cut to the point. Producing another sealed letter from amid the maps on the desk and put it next the first. Jasper could easily read _Maj. J. Whitlock _written clearly on the front.

"General," Jasper stood in protest and demanded, "what have I done to deserve this?"

"You have been a wonderful aide, but your services are no longer needed here."

"I have been nothing, if not loyal and able, sir," Jasper was slowly getting more aggressive, "there is no need to dispatch me as any common soldier. If this was because my reprieve took a few minutes more than granted..."

"Your tardiness," Beauregard interrupted, "provided me with nothing more than the time I needed to write your letter of dispatch!" The General was now speaking with the same frustration and force that Jasper had used.

Jasper stood for a moment allowing those words to sink in. He racked his mind with torment wondering what he might have done to be fired from Beauregard's staff.

After an awkward pause, Jasper finally responded, "If I failed in any of duties, or not performed to expectations, I would have appreciated the courtesy of being informed so that I could correct any such mistakes." He was no calmer inside, but he knew that he must bring his outward appearance into check.

"Honestly, Major, your performance and sense of duty of have remained nothing shy of exemplary." Beauregard seemed to be imitating Whitlock. His inner distress was evident, even if his outer appearance was cooling.

"Then why, sir, are you sending me home?" he implored.

"I've always known you to get along famously with the general ranks. However it seems queer to me that a man with such rapport would fail to recognize the speed with which gossip and stories spread amongst them."

Jasper realized that this was all because he had struck Sergeant Adams. He had all but forgotten of that incident as so much had happened to him that evening. Although it had occurred within the past hour, to him the encounter seemed to have been a thousand nights before. As this episode swept through his conscience, he dropped his head, and stood there as a beaten man.

"I don't know why you would've hit Adams, but I've heard enough about him to know that he's a good Sergeant." Beauregard's demeanor had changed again; he now seemed saddened by the shift in discussion. Had Jasper been paying closer attention to the scenario as it played out, he would have recognized that the General was actually mimicking his every feeling. Clearly, these two officers were sailing this emotional voyage together.

"Please understand, Major, that I hold you in the highest regards personally. However, I cannot afford the liability of having you on my staff any longer."

There was a noticeable and awkward pause between the two men before Beauregard finally broke the silence.

"... unless, of course, you wish to enlighten me as to why you assaulted the Sergeant."

Jasper Whitlock was now truly at a loss for words. No answer, no matter how carefully phrased or crafted, would satisfy Beauregard. Was now the time to fess up to having found the largest loophole in military service? Could he tell the General that he wanted to send the Sergeant home, but didn't have the authority to release him from duties? What lie would have been plausible? Any lie would have easily been countermanded with countless witnesses.

In his despair, Jasper stood there staring silently at his commanding officer, who sat just as stoically.

"It is a shame," the General finally spoke up, "you have proven one of the ablest aides with whom I have ever worked."

Understanding that this was his dismissal, Jasper stepped forward and collected the two letters from the desk. One was his official discharge, and the other was a personal correspondence with Whitlock's commanding officer back in Texas.

"Come by in the morning prior to your departure," Beauregard added as Jasper picked up the envelopes, "you may collect a Letter of Marque* before you leave."

"Sir?"

"Letter of Marque, just in case you are stopped."

"No sir... I meant 'in the morning'?"

"Ah, well, tis no need for you to loiter," Beauregard answered a somewhat dismissively. "Plus the correspondence is dated."

"But sir," Jasper was nearly pleading now, "you will need all help available to you! Why dismiss me before this engagement is complete?"

"It is, Whitlock. It is." Beauregard was speaking sternly, and for the first time that evening, the two men were not on the same emotional plane. "This battle is as good as won. I'm not taking anything away from your service, but there is no need to waste your time. It'll be nothing but running a few orders, then filling in reports."

The Major stood there unsatisfied with this answer.

"Do you really wish to tarry for dictation?" the General finally asked.

Jasper, realizing that there was no way around this decision, decided to swallow his pride and follow orders. He snapped to attention, saluted, and said "by your leave, General."

Beauregard stood up, returned the salute, and gave a nod without taking his eyes off of the Major. This simple, silent communication has always seemed to say more between men than words. With this, Jasper turned and left. As he exited the chapel, the other junior officers immediately returned to their posts and the church was again buzzing with activity as they took care of the responsibilities of preparing for the morning's actions.

It only took a few minutes before Jasper returned to his tent, but in his depression, everything seemed to take longer. Here it was, already late evening, and all he had to do was prepare for his morning departure rather than prepare for battle. It was an uneasy feeling for which he was unprepared.

He took a seat in front of his tent and sat there for a moment thinking about everything, but simultaneously, about nothing. That was when the idea came to him. He went into the tent and rummaged around to find some paper, his quill, and ink.

Moment's later, Major Whitlock was just like the enlisted men, sitting there, in front of his tent, scripting a letter as his last act for the day. He dipped the quill, put the pen to paper, and wrote:

_Gen. P. G. T. Beauregard,_

_It has been with great pleasure that I have served faithfully and dutifully as adjutant. While I do not have reason or logic with which I can explain the purpose of my actions, I trust that you will recognize that they were not intended to bring dishonour or disrespect upon you or your staff. My careless actions rest upon me alone. _

_I shall, however, remain culpable for any act that is unbecoming of an officer. As such, I shall take my leave, but I shall not forget that which I have learned under your command. _

_What is more, Sir, I shall remain prepared to return to your side should my services be needed again. Until that time, I shall gratefully remain,_

_Your Obedient Servant,**_

_Maj. Jsp. Whitlock_

Jasper then folded the letter into thirds, and started packing up any non-essential gear. His plan was to depart decently before sunrise so that he could minimize his embarrassment of being relieved of his post. As he traveled exclusively on horseback, his total gear comprised one bag, bedroll, and tent. Fortunately, he was able to stow his personal effects rather quickly.

After this excruciatingly long day, Jasper found surprising pleasure in removing his boots. He had not realized how sore his feet were until now. Removing his uniform coat and dropping his suspenders to his side, Jasper finally laid down to sleep. For him, Shiloh was over.

Or so he thought.

* * *

**_A/N_**

*Letter of Marque – this is a paper or order giving the carrier authority to cross international borders. In this case, Jasper would have received one for the purpose of crossing a border should US troops have conquered lands south of Tennessee.

** "Your Obedient Servant" - although this is not modern phrasing, during the Civil War this was the most common and expected closing from a junior officer in official correspondence with a senior officer.


	5. The Pretender

**A/N ****As per usual, the legal stuff is that Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer, the generals belong to history, and the rest belong to me. Special thanks to WuogKat (prereader/banner) and MaleficnetKnits (beta). You can also find "The Home Guard" over on .net! I must give lots of love to my wonderful Twilighted Beta Totoro.  
**

* * *

April 7, 1862

Major Jasper Whitlock awoke around 5:00 AM as he normally did while serving as adjutant. Unfortunately, this morning would not be normal by any extent of one's imagination. There were two details that greatly affected Whitlock's approach of the day. The first was the fact that he had just been released from his service as General Beauregard's _aide-de-camp_. The second was the fact that Confederate forces were camped only hundreds of yards from an undetermined number of Union troops.

The first issue bore far greater weight upon the major's shoulders. Knowing that he had been discharged from such a position was a personal insult to him. It was for this reason that he made sure to arise as normal and prepare for the day, lest he arouse any suspicion among the general ranks.

Although he attempted to maintain the status quo, Jasper was a little more relaxed than he normally would have been. He put on his brown boots and gray uniform shirt, but be neglected to button it up before he left his tent. Although this look was not uncommon for officers prior to a morning shave, Jasper had no intention of shaving… mostly because he had packed his razor with his personal belongings the previous night.

As he exited his tent, Jasper was surprised by the early April chill that morning, but considered it a nice change from the exhausting heat the he had felt the previous day, and that assuredly awaited him later in the day. In the darkness of the morning, he saw only the lights of mess fires preparing breakfast for the officers. Enlisted men were stuck with significantly less desirable food; this morning they were destined for cold soup and hard tack. (a)

He was also rather happy to note that there were plenty of other men up and scurrying around. Jasper had assumed that in the rush and bustle of these men, he'd be able to slip away unnoticed. They were all preoccupied with their duties preparing for the day's final push against those damned Yankees.

After a good morning stretch and a quick trip by the officers' cook for some coffee, Jasper hurried back to his tent and ducked in to collect his blanket and ground cloth. He then slipped away without drawing any attention to himself as he went to saddle up his horse and add his remaining gear to it. A saddled horse would not be anything out of the ordinary, but the telltale bedroll would be suspicious, so he had to act quickly. He mounted his horse and took off.

Jasper was fortunate that Shiloh Church, which was being used as Beauregard's headquarters was just off of Corinth Road that he would be taking south. He could see the lights on inside before he got there. As expected, it was abuzz with activity preparing for the day. He didn't like the idea of speaking with anyone in his disgraced position, but he knew it was inevitable here.

He dismounted, tied the reins to a nearby tree branch, and hurried inside…

"Mawnin' Major," Beauregard slurred in his thick Creole accent.

Jasper knew that someone was there, but he had not anticipated that the general would be up this early. He was seated at the table behind a small stack of papers, various maps, and what was obviously not his first cup of coffee.

"Good mornin', sir," Whitlock replied instinctively as he snapped to attention.

Beauregard returned a salute and pointed towards a seat opposite him.

"No thank you, sir," Jasper replied. "You stated that I would have a letter of marque."

"Ah, yes…" Beauregard started as he rummaged through a pile on his left. "I've got it… here," he said procuring a folded piece of paper and placing it as far across the table as he could reach.

"Thank you, sir," Jasper said simply.

He stood there sharing an awkward silence between himself and the general. Both of them wanting to say something, but neither sure of what could be said. Jasper could sense Beauregard's anxiousness; he assumed it was in regards to the impending attack, although he was not certain. The silence was finally broken by footsteps approaching outside.

"Are you leaving now?" Beauregard asked quickly, as though trying to force the conversation in before the owner of the footsteps made it inside.

"Yes sir, I am."

"General," said the third person as he entered the church, "all orders have been issued, but…" he trailed off seeing Major Whitlock standing there.

Jasper turned and could see that it was the same captain he saw the previous night. Clearly this was the man who had taken his position as the general's adjutant. The dark-haired captain now stood there creating an even more awkward silence than they had had before.

"Godspeed, son." Once again, it was Beauregard who broke the silence.

"Thank you, sir," Jasper replied, and with a slight bow of his head added, "it has been an honor and a privilege."

With that, Jasper stepped forward to collect his letter of marque. Hidden in the same hand was his letter he had written to General Beauregard the night before. He dropped the one as he picked up the latter in such a seamless motion that had anyone been paying attention, it would have seemed that Jasper had failed to take the piece of paper, which is precisely what he wanted. Jasper thought that "delivering" the note would be less appropriate than allowing Beauregard to simply find it. For him, at least, the captain was a fortunate distraction.

After swapping the papers, Jasper turned and excused himself as quickly as possible, while the captain started saying something about one General Polk not being available to speak with him.

Walking out of the church was one of the hardest things that he had ever done. Just knowing that he had been discharged from his position was one of the greatest insults to which Jasper had ever been subjected. He recognized, however, that General Beauregard was exhibiting all the restraint and mercy that he could. Officially, Jasper was on assignment as an emissary delivering private correspondence for the general. Unofficially, everyone within Beauregard's inner circle recognized this for what it was: a dismissal from his post.

Major Whitlock collected his horse's reins and mounted her, ready for his departure southward down Corinth Road.

Although an officer, Jasper was unique in having his own horse. Such a luxury was usually reserved for generals and members of the cavalry. When the infantry members of the Texas 2nd who served under Jasper learned of his reassignment, they passed the hat and collected enough to buy an inexpensive horse. He had been prepared for the long and tiring task of traveling to Tennessee by a steam-engine train. Yet on the eve of his departure, the infantry presented him with this horse, which they left nameless (although the seller had called him Edmund). The horse was not old or tired, but it was a mongrel in a world of purebreds. Jasper didn't care about that. He was touched by the gesture, and decided to name him Tex as a reminder of home. This was an oddly appropriate name as the brown animal had one white patch above its right leg. There had been a few people who laughed at Tex, calling him the "Lone Star Horse."

Although Tex was prepared for a long trip, Jasper only traveled a mile and half south before stopping at a bend in the road. He dismounted and once again tied the reins to a branch so as to prevent Tex from wandering. It was still dark, but there was light in the farthest part of the eastern horizon. Jasper removed his bedroll, spread it beside the road, and laid down. He had not been completely convinced that this was the right thing to do, but after his experienced from the previous day, Jasper felt the need to listen to the sounds of war.

Even though he was discharged and was supposed to be on his way back to Galveston, Jasper was unaware of any time requirement for this delivery. As he tried to fall asleep the night before, he had decided to hide himself not far from the battle and listen. He had been in the thick of battle and he had been on the edge of it. He wondered if there was anything to be learned from the distance. At this point, there was nothing to do but wait.

Fortunately, he would not have to wait long, as the breaking dawn crept across the horizon Jasper knew that the morning's battle would soon commence.

As light spread forth across the land, Jasper looked around to observe his surroundings. He was laying at the foot of a giant pine tree, on the edge of what appeared to be a massive forest. Tex happened to be tied to a dogwood, whose white flowers were not quite ready to blossom. All around him was green with all the life of spring. It was a pleasant change from the battlefield where many of the trees had been decimated by axes or field guns.

Jasper sat there, patiently waiting for the sounds of war, but they never seemed to come. He heard the early morning birds going about their business, various insects, and there were also the far off sounds of geese… or was it barking dogs?

Then, finally, as expected, Jasper heard the sounds of battle. He could hear the tell tale pops of cannons, field guns, and the syncopated volleys of musket fire. Then he realized that the "geese" were actually the men shouting in their charge. This meant that following the battle from this far away was going to be more difficult than expected.

He looked at his pocket watch; it was a few minutes after 7:00 AM. If things went according to expectations, this battle should be over by lunchtime.

Listening to the action was proving to be quite difficult, but after about half an hour Jasper had learned how to listen to the sounds from this distance. There were some things that turned out to be very clear, such as the fact that the fighting was heaviest on the one side. This was no surprise. All of the available provisions and preparations had gone to Breckenridge and Hardee on the east side of the line. They were closest to Pittsburg Landing and were the ones who should be advancing.

Jasper thought that he must have been turned around because the sounds seemed to be coming from further west than he anticipated. He began to question himself. Jasper got up and went over to Tex's saddle bags. He rummaged through and pulled out his compass. He oriented himself to the north and thought back to the maps he had looked over with Beauregard the previous morning.

The sounds were coming from too far to his left. This was where Generals Bragg and Polk were. They had not been restocked, nor had their units been prepared for battle today. Jasper's heart sank. He knew that something was not going according to plan.

"C'mon, Tex," he said stowing his compass and grabbing the horse's reins, "they're gonna need us."

Jasper mounted up and took off as fast as Tex could fly back up Corinth Road. The popping sounds gradually grew more distinct. The "geese" became "dogs," and the "dogs" finally became shouts. For the first time, Jasper seemed to actively notice the tricks that adrenaline can play on one's perception. Although he was only a few miles from the front line, and a mere mile and half from Shiloh Church, the journey seemed to take forever. He was moving as fast as he could, but it was not fast enough for him.

Finally, he saw the church, and he wished Tex could move faster. For a brief moment, this desire for speed was no longer about his need to assist his countrymen, but out of that same shame he had felt hours earlier leaving the church. He also did not want to be seen returning to where he was not requested.

However, the constant din of fighting reminded Jasper of where he must go. Of course he knew where he needed to start, having traveled along the roads and paths so much the day before as he went about his errands for the general. His first concern was to see the line that should have been attacking, so he went east toward Savannah Road.

Here it was, nearing 8:00 AM, and the attack had only just begun on the far right. He crossed the road and could see some of General Hardee's observation officers in the near distance. He spurred Tex onward.

"Give me your field glasses," Jasper ordered a colonel as he approached.

"Excuse me, son?" he replied glaring at Whitlock upon seeing his lower rank.

"You wanta question me about that?" Jasper was getting irritated.

"Damn right, _Major_," he answered. It was that extra emphasis on his rank that truly angered Jasper.

"I'm here at Beauregard's _personal _request," Jasper bluffed, adding his own special emphasis, "and he didn't bother wasting time giving me written orders."

The colonel hesitated.

"I shan't waste my time or his going back for a note, if that's what you're waiting for."

Major Whitlock may not have been on official orders from Beauregard, but his bluff was better than that of any poker player. The colonel reluctantly handed over his binoculars.

Jasper viewed the field in front of him, up towards the landing. Even though they helped him see the big picture, that was not what he was looking for. Jasper was straining his eyes to see the flags of individual brigades.

"Have you satisfied your curiosity?" the impatient colonel asked.

"Not yet," Jasper replied as he continued his search. "One… two… thr…" he was muttering as he counted under his breath. "Damn it to…" Jasper couldn't seem to get a full sentence out.

"Colonel, you need to send a dispatch to Hardee posthaste informing him that Buell has indeed arrived." Jasper was surprised how calm he was, in spite of his frustration in learning that his fear of Union reinforcements had been realized. "You also need to let him know that we are now outnumbered, and unless he treats this situation with utmost care, we are going to see the Alamo all over again."

"Buell? What a load of poppycock, _Major_," again he emphasized the Jasper's lower rank, "I'd think that coming from command, you'd know what intelligence said about Buell!"

"I do know what they said, _Colonel_," Jasper used every bit of his Texas accent to play this game as well, "but perhaps you'd like to explain how else they have so many brigades from Kentucky coming in from the landing."

This visibly affected the colonel. Jasper handed the field glasses back to their owner. He was irritated, and clearly mad at having just been shown up by someone of a junior rank. Perhaps that is why he made an unexpected move.

"Major," the colonel said looking straight into Jasper's eyes. "I have just been ordered to send dispatch to General Hardee. It seems that General Buell has arrived and we are now outnumbered. I need you to deliver this message for me."

Jasper was truly put out by this attempted power play. He opened his mouth to remind the colonel that he didn't have time for this kind of pissing contest among officers. However, what actually came out of his mouth was even more abrasive.

"Colonel," Jasper stated firmly, "do not confuse your rank with my authority. I'm on Beauregard's assignment."

Jasper was bluffing, but it was clear from the look in the colonel's eyes that he saw there was no way for him to win this argument. With that, Jasper considered the matter closed and set off down the line to see how the battle was progressing on the western front of the line. He saw everything as expected under the command of Breckenridge. This division was prepared with the limited resources they had and were attempting to repel the Yankees' unexpected morning advance. Jasper could also sense the general optimism that surrounded the officers here, mixed with the requisite amount of fear and concern that battle brings. Obviously, the problem laid further down the front.

As he continued northwest along the front he could hear the increase in fire and shouting. There was a gray haze that covered the battlefield just in front of him; smoke from the intense amount of spent gunpowder.(b) The spring morning wind had pushed this cloud southward towards his location. As Jasper and Tex pushed into the smoke, it was like walking through a doorway into a house. All of the light he had felt was gone. There was fear and despair all around.

Jasper spurred Tex forward to the officers he saw attempting to observe their command. Approaching, he could tell that something was out of place. There was a small group of officers, but there did not seem to be a leader among them, so Major Whitlock decided to address the highest-ranking officer among them.

"Situation report," Jasper ordered of the colonel.

He hesitated. Jasper focused on him, and could sense that he was the most scared of the officer corps.

"Major Jasper Whitlock," he stated, dismounting from his horse, "and I'm here for a situation report, colonel…."

"Colonel Jackson Warren," he replied. His eyes were full of shock; he obviously was at a total loss of what to do.

After a few moments, another major finally spoke up.

"Major Whitlock, we were not prepared for their advance this morning, and we are getting walloped. It's as simple as that."

"Simple? That's not simple, that's a problem we need to fix," Jasper was speaking very calmly, hoping that he could take control of this situation. "What orders has General Polk given?"

None of the officers spoke, but they all seemed to exchange awkward glances.

"We have not received any orders from him as of yet," a first lieutenant finally spoke up.

"No orders?" Jasper asked. "Who has been giving him updates?"

"No one, Major," Colonel Warren responded. "We are, at the present time, unable to locate General Polk."

This was perhaps worse than even Jasper could have imagined. In the heat of battle, Polk is AWOL.(c) Such an occurrence was unheard of. How could the division's leader disappear?

Jasper stepped forward, took the field glasses from Colonel Warren's hand, and began to survey the field.

"Gentlemen, the attack is fierce. I'll be damned if they're not swarming like pissed off bees." It was time for Major Whitlock to take control. He put his hand on Warren's shoulder and used every ounce of his ability to calm him.

"We need to send a report to Beauregard posthaste. There is no way that we will be able to hold this position since provisions were not delivered to here last night. We will hold the line as long as possible and coordinate an organized retreat with General Bragg's division. Go ahead and inform him that Polk is not present."

Without pause, Jasper turned to the lieutenant and ordered, "Contact Bragg immediately. He's holding the westernmost portion of the line. If those Yanks turn his flank,(d) they'll march down this line and walk through us like a flowerbed. We will retreat before allowing that to happen."

Looking back through the glasses, Jasper took a moment to assess the situation. Then, turning to another officer present, "we need to move those cannons back about two hundred yards. We're going to pull back as soon as they're in position, and then unleash hell upon Billy Yank once they try to follow. That should buy some time. We will need to pull back close to Hamburg Road before we can make a solid stand."

In this manner, Major Whitlock took over the leaderless division. His demeanor and serenity in the midst of the dire situation added a collective calm to the officer corps and restored their spirits, to a certain extent.

Jasper's concern at this stage was not to win the battle, but to save as many lives as possible. Retreating was not what he wanted to do, but he knew that it was necessary in light of the many obstacles they faced. It seemed as though Whitlock had learned a lot from Beauregard. As orders were returning from Shiloh Church, they were instructed to pull back to Hamburg Road, and reestablish the line.

For nearly two hours, Major Whitlock maintained unofficial command of the regiment, in spite of the presence of higher-ranking officers. They all defaulted to him on the decisions that had to be made in the thick of battle. Somewhere about 10:00 AM, General Bragg had appeared; just in time to take credit for the refortification of the Confederate line, as they maintained their position.

Jasper, having relinquished his position, retreated to a position not far behind the line to observe the progress of the battle. Although the Confederates had a much stronger position, this did not stop the advances of the Union forces. Their new position resulted in what Jasper considered to be the most severe musketry ever heard in battle.

Unfortunately, it was clear to him that this push today was going to end horribly for the Confederates. Even this early in the day, it was impossible for him to maintain high hopes. What seemed to be a resounding victory for the men in gray was now going to end in defeat. By noon, Union forces were finally advancing on the Confederate line, and they fell back to a line just in front of the Church.

All this time, Jasper traveled up and down the line observing and issuing orders, as he felt necessary. Perhaps the boldest decision that he made was a little after 1:00 PM. He sent an anonymous report to General Beauregard recommending a full retreat in order to save as many lives as possible.

Within the hour, a full retreat had been ordered and all Confederate forces pulled back with General Breckenridge's division providing cover for their escape. Even though Jasper did not know the exact order that had been issued, he watched carefully and ended up with Breckenridge's men. He wanted to stay behind and assist in any manner that he could, but was disappointed that he could do little more than stand and watch.

It was a little before dinnertime that Northern troops stopped at Shiloh Branch (near the Church) and finally called off their attack and the last of the Confederates were allowed to retreat. They were traveling south down Corinth Road where Jasper had started his day about twelve hours previously.

It had been a long and miserable day. Even Jasper was unable to raise his own spirits. He had started the day simply wanting to listen and witness their victory from a distance. However, his inability to remain a bystander led him into the thick of battle, and even leading a small portion of it.

Corinth Road was on his way home, but he still did not want to go. Nonetheless, he knew that his orders were to return. He attempted to blend in as much as possible with the troops as they withdrew to Corinth, but traveling equestrian is rather conspicuous when so many others are on foot. As he was so desperate to go unnoticed (lest Beauregard catch news of his return and insubordination) required that he go off of the main road and find his own path home.

He was able to bypass the town of Corinth and the Confederate armies now camped there. Unfortunately this meant that he would have to camp by himself, and although it was past dusk, Jasper managed to find a good spot under an oak tree that would be a great place to bed down.

"Damn it to hell!" Jasper shouted to no one. When he thought about sleep, he realized that in his haste that morning, he had left his bedroll on the side of the road. He dismounted and tied his horse off to a branch.

"Well Tex, I'm going to have to borrow your blanket for tonight," Jasper said patting his horse's neck. "It's a good trade. As least you can eat some of the grass around here. I'm going to sleep hungry tonight."

He turned away, exhausted, with Tex's blanket. Just like the night before, he removed his wool shirt and boots and prepared his bed for the night, nestling himself down.

As he drifted off to sleep, Jasper thought about the coming days. He knew that the next morning would have him starting his journey back to Galveston. Of course, there was voice in the back of his head reminding him not to expect anything. _After all_, the voice seemed to say, _this morning you knew that that you would be heading home after listening to Beauregard's victory_.

Jasper had to push that thought from his mind and try to think of something less depressing. Alas, he was unable to find happier thoughts, and was destined for a very uneasy night's sleep.

(a) Hard Tack - a simple type of cracker or biscuit, made from flour, water, and usually salt. It was inexpensive, long-lasting, and a staple of Civil War Soldier's diet.

(b) It is this kind of haze that came from the burned gunpowder that helped lead to the phrase "Fog of War." In the days of muskets the fog was a literal problem and not just a figurative one.

(c) AWOL – Absent WithOut Leave

(d) Turn the Flank – A flank is the side of a military formation. Turning the flank is a military strategy that would destroy the formation and usually allows you to crush the now-unorganized enemy.


	6. The Fields' Plantation

**A/N The story is taking a distinct shift from the battle field to the home front. You will find Jasper in many more traditional situations, and get to explore how he continues to grow and develop. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer and is copyrighted. No infringement is intended. Everything else in this chapter (except for geography) is pure fiction pouring out of my over active imagination. I could not do this without the incomparable assistance of ****WuogKat **** and ****Maleficent Knits****. I love you both for your help on this!**

April 8, 1862

Jasper woke up early, as per usual. This morning he awoke as a result of churning stomach begging for food, rather than as a result of his internal clock. Fortunately, there was little to prepare for his departure. His wool shirt was draped over a tree branch and his boots were next to him. He needed only to shake out his horse blanket. However, before putting his boots on, Jasper took each one, tapped the heel on the ground, and the tipped it upside down. This was a habit of his from Texas. It was not unusual for nocturnal critters to find their way into an unsuspecting camper's boot before sunrise. Although he had always heard stories, only once did Jasperfind this a necessity. He was on bivouac in central Texas with the 2nd infantry, when a scorpion had found its way into his boot. For him, that one incident made every empty boot worth the extra 15 or 20 seconds this simple task required.

Within 15 minutes, Jasper was back on Tex and heading south. He was always a little nervous about traveling by himself in this time just before dawn. He did not want to be mistaken for someone of a more unsavory ilk. However, this morning, he did not rightly care. It had been more than 24 hours and he had not eaten or drunk much more than a cup of coffee. Jasper was not sure how long it would take him to find somewhere to eat, but he knew that he was south of Corinth, Mississippi, and the next town (if he remembered correctly) was Booneville. If he were lucky he'd get there by lunchtime.

This kind of travel allowed him plenty of time for thought, and he planned out his return trip to Texas as much as possible. If he pushed himself as he did coming north to meet General Beauregard, he could get back to Galveston in as little as three weeks. That kind of speed would require Tex to travel 30 to 35 miles per day. He didn't like the idea of pushing Tex that hard, but felt that it needed to be done.

The morning trip was rather uneventful. He was simply riding on horseback through the northern Mississippi countryside, which proved to be far less exciting than Jasper anticipated given his experiences over the past few days. Instead, the most excitement he had, other than watching the night turn into day, was startling a few whitetail deer. Other than that, he was just following the dirt road through a forest of pine trees towards Booneville, until, suddenly, the forest ended.

As he was nearing town the forest opened up on his right, and he saw a vast open field, separated from the road by a small wooden fence with some occasional oak trees throughout. The many acres would have been barren except for about 30 black men out in the field hoeing the ground. They were obviously preparing for planting cottonseed that would soon be going in the ground.

In some ways, Jasper was able to sympathize with these men all too well. He had grown up in eastern Texas, on a small farm of his own; at least it was his family's farm. There they had attempted to grow their own cotton, but they could never compete with the Planter(a) class. Their farm was far too small in both land and labor. In complete honesty, Jasper never really cared for the Planters, but he bore no animosity towards them either.

He rode parallel to the fields for a little more than a quarter mile before he saw the manor to the plantation. Jasper was a bit of a proud young man, and had a hard time asking for food. However, with as hungry as he was at the moment, he had few inhibitions regarding his pride. Within another quarter mile, he saw a row of trees leading from the main road up to the manor, obviously indicating the entrance. He spurred Tex on to a trot so he could arrive sooner.

As he turned off the main road onto the entry path, he took a good look at the Plantation House. It was a large, white, two-storied house with a wrap around porch and large columns. Although Jasper had never had much in the way of formal schooling, he knew these were inspired by Greek architecture. A boy in the South either knew these things or he did not. Thanks to Jasper's highly charismatic personality, he had been able to befriend quite a few of the Planter families back home and learned much about the upper class. This knowledge gave him the appearance of a high-class background, which when combined with his personality helped him advance so quickly within the ranks.

As he approached the house, a well dressed, older, black man who immediately took the horse's reins greeted him, while another black man called into the house announcing that a guest had arrived. Out of courtesy, Jasper remained on his horse until he was officially greeted by someone of the house.

Within moments a woman, old enough to be his mother, came through the front door. She was wearing a traditional southern dress white with light blue trim. It appeared that she was even wearing petticoats, which was unusual for someone of her age and status. As she exited the house, she put on her hat as if to protect her eyes and hair from the morning sun.

"Good mawnin' ma'am," he said in his usual Texas drawl and tipping his hat to the lady of the house, "Major Jasper Whitlock of the Texas 2nd Infantry."

"Well," she drawled with an equally southern flair, "my word, you are a long way from home. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Ma'am, I hate to be of a burden, but I am entrusted by General Beauregard to deliver messages to General Hebert in Texas. It is to my great misfortune that I am without provisions on this journey…"

"My, my," she interrupted, "we can't let a brave officer defending our state go without." She smiled as wide as Jasper had ever seen. "Benjamin," she ordered, "take his horse to the stables and see to his needs."

An obedient Benjamin, already holding the reins, half bowed and offered a barely audible _Yes ma'am _at the lady of the manor's instructions. Jasper took that opportunity to dismount, collecting only his saber and letters he received from the General.

"Benjamin," Jasper offered with a soft voice, "his name is Tex."

"Yessir," he answered, and then added (feeling quite comfortable around Jasper), "I'll take good care him sir."

Jasper smiled and gave Benjamin a wink. He then turned and started up the steps toward the porch, where the lady of the house stood. He removed his hat as he climbed the stairs, knowing that it was impolite to keep one's head covered in the presence of a lady.

"I am greatly obliged for your assistance, Mrs…"

"Oh, how terribly forgetful of me," she said dismissively, "I'm Mrs. Elias Fields, and you are certainly more than welcome here at the Fields estate. Now come inside and let's get something to eat. You are just in time too. Lunch should be ready any minute now!" Her voice and demeanor were both sugary sweet, but Jasper could tell that it was also quite genuine.

The interior of the house was as ornate as any house he had ever seen. There were more rooms than he could see at first glance, but clearly the drawing room was to his right and a library to the left. There was a grand staircase on the right side of the entryway that spiraled around the high, central rotunda up to the second floor. The house also had very ornate decorations. Each room had its own color of plaster paper, and even the gingerbread trim(b) was intricately painted to compliment it.

"Rachel," she called out as she led him into the library.

As though she were waiting, a young, black house servant appeared from around the corner. "Please add a setting for the young major here, and call the girls down to join us, please."

She dutifully nodded with a half bow and disappeared through a back hallway. Jasper checked out every inch of his surroundings. There were two leather settees in the library and a pair of desks. The shelves reached all the way to the ceiling and it appeared that there was no room left for any more books. The room was filled with oak wood trim and fixtures, and even though he had seen a lot of different kinds of woodwork, this was ornate by any standards.

"Please, Major Whitlock," she held out her hand offering him a seat.

"I thank you for your kindness, ma'am, but I'm not fit for sitting. I'd only muck up your exquisite furniture."

"Pay no mind, Major, 'tis not _filth_, but remnants of an honorable labor." Mrs. Fields was as sweet as ever, but Jasper could still sense her genuine feelings.

"I thank you kindly, but with all due respect to your home, I'd rather…"

Jasper was interrupted by the entrance of two young women, obviously the Fields' daughters. The younger of the two could not have been any more than about 12 or 13 years of age. She was an attractive young lady who appeared to carry herself with poise beyond her years. Her brunette hair was fairly straight and, laid more than halfway down her back covering a good portion of her light blue dress, which was longer than was traditional in such social circles.

The elder of the two, on the other hand, was very close to Jasper's age and by far one of the most beautiful women that he had ever seen. Her hair was a reddish brown, naturally wavy, and hung down just past her shoulders. Her eyes were a tantalizing green; something that Jasper had never noticed on a woman before. What was more, her skin was the most fair that he had ever laid eyes upon. Simply put, she was unlike any woman in whose presence he had ever been.

"Please allow me introduce my daughters," Mrs. Fields started, "this is Caroline," she said indicating her younger daughter.

Jasper bowed his head and offered an obligatory, "'Tis a pleasure, miss."

"… and this…" she started again, but was cut off by…

"Kaywinnet, sir," the elder daughter said, offering her hand to Jasper.

"It truly is an honor, miss," Jasper took the offered hand and bent down to kiss it.

However, this was too simple for him. Try as he might, Jasper was somehow unable to keep his eyes on any appropriate location. He could not seem to help ogling her rather magnificent breasts. Perhaps this is the reason that he missed connecting his lips with her knuckles and actually hit himself in the nose.

Kaywinnet let out a soft chuckle, and Jasper heard Caroline snicker. He turned beet red with embarrassment, but quickly recovered, looked at his mark, and planted an appropriately brief peck upon her hand. Mrs. Fields, on the other hand, was either ignoring the incident or oblivious to it.

Jasper hated the silence that was filling the room. Silence that is, except for the girls' repressed giggling.

"So, Major," Mrs. Fields finally spoke up, "have you seen much action?"

Jasper was still recovering from his embarrassment and the wonderful vision of Kaywinnet's cleavage, and first he heard the double _entantre_ in her words, which seemed to make him blush even more.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I spoke out of line. Would you rather not speak about combat?" With this Jasper not only understood her first question, but he also knew that she was simply not in the same room mentally with him and the young ladies.

"Elias," Mrs. Fields continued, "simply refuses to tell me anything of his exploits or engagements in the war."

"I'm terribly sorry, Ma'am," Jasper was recovering from his _faux pas_, "I did not realize that your husband was off at war. Where is he serving?"

"Lunch is awaiting you in the dining room," Rachel had entered so quietly that no one had noticed.

"Thank you Rachel, we shall be right there," Mrs. Fields said. "Shall we?"

Jasper, being a gentleman, allowed the girls to leave first, and offered his arm to Mrs. Fields so he could escort the lady of the house out the door and down the hall to the left of the rotunda. He came into the dining room and was welcomed with the aroma of baked ham and fresh made biscuits, among other tasty foods. There was a long table in the center of the room with four china place settings. Mrs. Fields took her place at the head of the table and Jasper was given a seat to her left while Kaywinnet and Caroline were sitting across from him on her right.

As he took a seat, he could not imagine his luck. His first meal in more than a day and it appeared to be an abundance of Southern delights. Mrs. Fields asked him to offer a blessing on the food, as he was now the man in the house.

"The Fields family," the mother explained, "has been on this land since just after the Revolution." She continued on, waxing eloquently on the history of the farm, and the family's history and prosperity. Jasper would normally have been quite interested, but his focus was all but gone in the presence of the spread before him. His true senses returned somewhere after the third piece of ham and a biscuit.

The girls, however, were excruciatingly bored with what was obviously another exhaustive recitation of their family history. Their ears finally perked up when the conversation turned to him. They wanted to know all about this strapping and attractive Texan. He recounted a little of his history, and how he came to serve under Beauregard. The family was in absolute awe of combat happening so close to their home and were dumbfounded to learn of the defeat at Shiloh. In fact, they naturally feared for their own safety. Jasper managed somehow to convince them that they need not worry (which was true, as the Union Army's concern was taking over railroads and rivers rather than plantations).

Kaywinnet, however, seemed to be the only one unaffected by any of this news. Jasper noticed that she was observing him without so much as blinking her eyes. She was focusing on him, but certainly not what he was saying. Jasper, was rightfully flattered at receiving such attention from someone as beautiful as Kaywinnet, but he was also careful not to flirt or draw any undue attention from her, lest he act inappropriately as a guest in the Fields' house.

As their meal was coming to a close, Jasper realized that he had no clue how he would depart. It was untraditional, at best, for a male to be alone with the women, but he likewise had a hard time simply walking away from such hospitality. What was worse, he was not sure how to address the issue. After a moment's internal debate, he decided to attack his concern head on.

"Mrs. Fields," he began, "I cannot even begin to thank you sufficiently for your generosity and hospitality."

"Well, it was certainly nothing from me," she said. "I just feel so awful that I cannot do more to support the cause other than offering my sweet Elias' service."

"It is a sacrifice for which we are eternally grateful, ma'am. However, I feel compelled to offer my services in whatever capacity they may be needed as compensation for your kindness."

The Fields girls shared a quick glance and a slight giggle as though they were in on some joke to which none others were privy.

"I shall hear of no such thing!" Mrs. Fields demanded. "You are a guest, and you are most welcome."

"You have gone far above and beyond anything that might be asked of you for a simple soldier…"

"Not at all," she spoke over him.

"… and I would be remiss if I did not provide some service for you in return."

Mrs. Fields stopped her opposition suddenly, and sat back in her chair in apparent deep thought. It took a solid minute of awkward silence while she pondered something. She looked over at her daughters, who were still smiling for no apparent reason.

"Very well," she finally said. "I will have need of your services, but not until tomorrow."

Jasper was now truly in a hard place. His time and travel were precious, and he just could not wait an extra day.

"Please, ma'am," he was hoping to offer a way out of any delays, "I would hate to delay your errands. Might I have the task so as to complete it in a more timely fashion?"

"I'm terribly sorry, but I will need you to deliver some letters and requests among some friends and acquaintances of mine. Unfortunately, it cannot be done before tomorrow. I will spend this very afternoon preparing the invitations for you to deliver."

Jasper did not like this at all. His sense of honor has now forced him into deciding between his duty to the Confederate Army and his sense of chivalry. He was beginning to wonder how he might get out of this most unfortunate scenario.

"At the risk of sounding ungrateful, Mrs. Fields," he offered, hoping to impress upon her his own sense of urgency, "I am upon an abbreviated time table for reaching Galveston."

"Oh!" she seemed nearly giddy with surprise, "well if it is time that you need, it is time that I can provide."

Jasper's curiosity was piqued. He had hoped she would understand how concerned he was with time, but did not know how she could possibly help.

"I know that you are pressed for time, and I have a proposition for you Major Whitlock," this was sounding like a bad deal already. "In exchange for your services, I will save you at least a week off of your trip. Do you accept?"

Now, she was starting to sound like a snake oil salesman; she could provide the miracle cure, but at what price?

"Ma'am, with all due deference, I do not believe that I can accept such an offer without more details. How do you propose to shorten my journey?"

"_Well_," she slurred in a Mississippi accent that managed to give the word two syllables, "if you travel to Robinsonville(c) on the river, you can find a steamship owner who contracts with my sweet Elias to carry our cotton down the river to port in New Orleans. With a note from me, he will give you passage to any place you choose on the river."

"It sounds wonderful, but I have Tex to consider, Ma'am."

"'Tis not a problem. He should be able to find accommodations; at least he has in the past."

Jasper was sitting there unsure what to say. Her offer was mighty tempting, but he was still concerned with timing.

"That is too much generosity, Mrs. Fields. I simply could not take such advantage for so little in return."

"Poppycock," she practically laughed as she said this. "In exchange, you will deliver some letters for me, and escort Kaywinnet."

"Escort?" He was shocked at the sound of this.

"Why yes," she was sugary sweet again, and still drawing out simple words into two syllables. "Tomorrow night we are hosting a cotillion for Prentiss County. Tomorrow, you will deliver some notices offering a slight change to the evening's events, and then you will attend as an escort for my daughter."

Jasper was still surprised by this proposition. He looked cautiously toward Kaywinnet across the table from him. She was ducking her head as if that would hide her flushed cheeks. He could see that she was repressing a smile. Caroline, on the other hand, was none too shy to show her approval of the plan, as she offered an excited nod as if to silently convince him of accepting the offer.

"In exchange," Mrs. Fields continued, "I can deliver you to a competent riverboat captain who will have you in New Orleans within one week."

He tried to think of a way out, but his own curiosity and desire to spend an evening with the lovely Kaywinnet was too much to refuse.

"Ma'am, your hospitality knows no bounds. I would be honored to do as you have asked."

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed, offering a loud and excited clap with her hands. "Rachel," she called. Rachel stepped forward as if awaiting commands. "Please see to it that the good major here has a fresh bath this afternoon, and see to his clothes, which must need a wash."

"Mrs. Fields," Jasper interjected, "I appreciate your offer, but these are the only clothes that I have."

"Well then," she seemed to love resolving these concerns, "we shall see what of Mr. Fields' will fit you." She shared a look with Rachel, who nodded her acknowledgement of the instructions and shuffled out of the room.

The next few hours were an absolute whirlwind for Jasper. In that time he had bathed, shaved, and had his only uniform cleaned. After he was dressed in one of Mr. Field's suits, the lady of the house gave him a tour of the manor (and never missed an opportunity to share a little more of the robust Fields family history). That evening, after supper, he enjoyed a few glasses of brandy while both Kaywinnet and Caroline entertained him with their musical talents. They each played the piano and sang. He told some stories from his days in Texas, experiences as adjutant, and they even spoke a little of the war.

After a final glass of brandy, he finally retired to his bedroom. As he changed into nightclothes (again offered by the absent Elias Fields), Jasper could not help but think of this incredible experience. Having spent the past few weeks on bivouac and the last two days in full on combat, Jasper was now enjoying all of the comforts of Southern hospitality and high society. It was as if some strange dream had come true. He wasn't sure if he was about to wake up from a dream or just wake up with one of the most amazing stories to share around the officers' mess. Either way, he was determined to enjoy it.

So blowing out the candle, he laid down upon the thick down mattress of his bed, soaking in every ounce of comfort while he could.

(a)Planters – these were the plantation owners, and defined as those who had 20 or more slaves.

(b)Gingerbread trim – decorative trim added to the interior and exterior of houses. This was very common in more expensive houses through the Great Depression.

(c) Robinsonville, MS is now known as Tunica Resorts.


	7. Cotillion

**A/N: Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. Everything else is a product of my overactive imagination. No copyright infringement intended. Many thanks to my amazing betas who are both better than I deserve: Wuogkat & MaleficentKnits. Please recognize that some of the seemingly awkward phrases in the dialogue are intended to be period appropriate.  
**

April 9, 1862

The spring sun blazed overhead as Jasper Whitlock rode through the northern Mississippi countryside. He had spent the morning delivering letters for Mrs. Fields, a Planter's wife who had been his angel only the day before.

Jasper had started the day starving and embarrassed after being relieved of his post as _aide-de-camp _for General Beauregard. However, thanks largely to chance, he found himself as a guest in her plantation house where food was as plentiful and pleasing as the company. By most any standards it was a far more pleasing option than the alternative: evading the pursuit of the Ohio 77th Army.

_Nonetheless…I'd rather be by Beauregard's side_, Jasper thought as his mind wandered while riding Tex down the dirt road leading towards his final destination. In return for Mrs. Fields' hospitality, Jasper had agreed to hand deliver some last-minute messages prior to that evening's cotillion hosted by Mrs. Fields herself.

Jasper had been thoroughly spoiled by his hostess. She had provided him with food, a private guest room, and even appropriate clothing from her husband's wardrobe while his uniform was cleaned (and returned to him this morning). As if all of that were not enough, when he went to fetch Tex from the stables following breakfast, he was surprised to find that not only had Tex been cleaned and brushed, but his saddle had been polished as well.

In spite of the comforts and generosity extended to him, Jasper was still an officer at heart and he longed to be serving or leading as needed in the field. There was no way that he could have known the imminent danger that likely would have befallen him if he had stayed. About the time that he was enjoying lunch with the Fields family, Colonel Nathan Bedford Forrest was leading a doomed offensive against the Army of Ohio. In that battle, not only was Forrest severely wounded, but Union forces had also taken a Confederate field hospital only seven miles to the south of Shiloh. This disaster was already being called the Battle of Fallen Timbers. Yet, even if the major had known that, it would not have affected his desires.

Now, shortly before noon, Jasper was looking forward to lunch after he returned from delivering these messages; a task that he had just completed and was on his way back from the final delivery to the Poythress family. By all accounts, he was on the correct road from their plantation, but it seemed to him all of the paths looked the same. To make matters worse, it was almost impossible to check directions, as there was no one on any of the roads outside of the town.

Of course, as soon as Jasper made that observation, he spotted a man on horse at the far end of the path approaching him. There was something odd about the situation, though. It was clear that the man on horseback was towing something, but it was unclear as to what from this distance. As they drew closer to each other, despite his best efforts, Jasper still couldn't make out what was being drug behind the horse.

"Good mawnin'," the stranger drawled as he came within earshot.

"Mornin'," Jasper responded with a slight tip of the brim of his hat. "Is the Fields' Plantation far yet?"

"Not at all. Jus' 'nuther mile or so then a left'll take ya there," he said coming to a stop.

As Jasper stopped to speak with the stranger, he was overcome with an overwhelming sense of fear. He couldn't figure out why, but it was not coming from inside of himself, but from somewhere nearby.

"Ya got bizness there?" the stranger continued.

"Obviously," Jasper was more concerned about this strange and sudden emotion than his courtesy.

"Well, care to share it?" he continued.

Jasper was not going to be put off or put out by this man. "Unless you are Mr. Fields or of his household, than I have no need to share anything with you."

At that same moment, the odd lump that had been drug behind the stranger's horse moved and drew Jasper's attention do it. That's when he realized that it was indeed a man being towed inside a sack too heavy for the horse.

"Don' think ya can tell me whatcha'll do!" the man's voice was getting rather tense.

"Actually, it's just the opposite," Jasper said with great authority. "I'm Major Jasper Whitlock. I'm defending this nation from Northern aggression," he got off of Tex and walked over to the man on the ground, "and I'm defending this man."

The stranger let out a slight chuckle and did not seem to be intimidated in the slightest.

"Son, you ain't got nuthin' on me; I'm Mississippi Home Guard," he paused as though that was of great significance. "I got all the power I need o'er you," he sneered.

"Home guard?" Jasper asked.*

"Yeah, I din't think ya know'd what we is," the man couldn't stop condescending to Jasper, who was quickly coming to the end of patience. "Home. Guard." he said in a staccato voice as though speaking to a nearly deaf man. "I c'n do what I want."

"If you like t' think so," Jasper started, "but I'm gonna help this man… unless you wanna try and stop me."

Jasper turned immediately to the man on the ground, but before he could get to him, he sensed something drastic about to happen, so in a flash, he unsheathed his saber, slashed, and cut the rope tethering the bag to the saddle horn. His timing could not have been more perfect as the guard was in the process of spurring his horse to a full gallop. The shock of what happened made the rider cry out in surprise as he sped down the road.

When he realized what had actually happened, the stranger turned around and bore down on Jasper with full force. The major, however, was unaffected by this show of aggression. Jasper stood his ground and stared down the guard as if to tell the aggressor that he would not hesitate to kill him.

Jasper was not aware of exactly what happened, but the stranger had been immediately affected by Jasper's commanding presence and refusal to back down. In fact he was genuinely frightened by this confident display (and there was even something about the man himself that made the guardsman feel uncomfortable). All that Jasper knew was that the man had stopped a few feet from him.

"Now, I will give you exactly one opportunity," Jasper started, "to explain this 'home guard' thing to me."

There were a few moments of awkwardness as the stranger tried to control his hidden fear.

"The Mi'ssippi Home Guard is charged at protecting this state when you folk fail," he spat out.

"What d'you mean, 'when we fail'?"

"Ain't no way y'all gonna win ev'ry battle. Facts is y'all gon' n' screwed the pooch jes' up there at Shila'," he pointed northward as he dished out the insult he had been holding onto for so long. Jasper could tell that not even this man's fear could stop his anger and hatred for the regular army.

"You best not speak to those things of which you know nothing," it was Jasper's turn to express his own anger.

"Phwww…," the stranger laughed, "yeah, you fellows jes' ran scared like babes without their mamas… like that yeller** coward over there," he pointed toward the man on the ground.

He dismounted his horse and started toward Jasper.

"An' now yous is gonna let me take that there runaway back in for me reward… five dolla for each deserter I find," he explained while advancing with a swagger that he obviously felt he deserved.

Jasper was having none of this. Like a strike of lightning he raised his saber and placed it evenly against the neck of the stranger, just below the man's adam's apple.

"You speak well of brav'ry off the battlefield, but how well do you stare at death when he's in front of you?" Jasper asked coldly.

He could tell by the look in Jasper's eyes that this was no bluff; he was truly facing death if he made a move to do anything other than retreat. He stood there motionless, knowing that he could not advance, but simultaneously not wanting to back down.

He was prepared to wait the major out; let him tire first for the "moral" victory.

Major Whitlock stood motionless and stoically. He refused to strike without provocation, and was waiting for any excuse.

Silently they stared each other down.

A crow cawed as it flew overhead.

A cricket chirped cheerfully somewhere off in the untilled field to Jasper's left.

The two men stood there until the major tired of the situation, and he attempted to intimidate his opponent. Jasper squinted his eyes and focused his anger on the man before him. What he did not know is that this actually affected the guard. He could feel the major's anger and began to feel his anger increase as well.

Since his attempt to intimidate seemed to fail, Jasper moved on to physical force. He straightened his arm, ever so slightly, so that the saber's point dug deeper into the man's throat; deep enough to cause intense pain, but not yet enough to draw blood. If he had been forced to admit it, Jasper was rather surprised by this man's determination and pride, until suddenly he gave up.

"He's only a damn corp'ral," he said as he took a step backward, "not like the money I'd make for a runaway officer." The stranger now turned back to his horse, mounted, looked back to Jasper to offer another barb, "ya don't know where I c'n fin' a scared officer, do ya?"

Jasper refused to respond, but he did return the sword to its scabbard.

"I gotcha now," the stranger said, "I GOT cha! You ain't hidin' from me no more!"

"Your bravery with neither weapon nor advantage would fail to inspire even the most diligent of chicken hawks," Jasper coolly replied.

"Oh naw," he said shaking his head, "I'm in ya head. I'll find ya. And ya won't sleep well anymore now thatcha lookin' for me over ya shoulder."

Jasper could tell that the man was scared, but was unable to tell whether or not he was bluffing. Either way, the stranger turned his horse around and set off at gallop with a loud _hiya_ and a spur.

The major wasted no time before turning to check on the man in the bag. He spoke a few soothing words as he approached ("everything's going to be okay," "you're in safe hands"), and as he untied the bag he could sense the despair turn to hope. Even though he had not heard any words, this clear emotional shift let him know that the runaway soldier was at least conscious.

He opened up the bag to see what was the biggest surprise of all. There on the ground, in front of Jasper was a bloodied, beaten, and familiar face. It took a moment of concentration before he recollected where he had seen this man. It was "Corporal Lost" who allowed a small band of Union troops to his position just a few days prior. Although his shock and unbelief at such incredible odds made him want to interrogate the corporal, Jasper knew that identifying himself would not help the situation. He also considered it fortunate that the unnamed soldier was unlikely to recognize him; one eye was swollen shut and the other one was banged up pretty well, too. In spite of the beaten and bruised condition, there was no mistaking who this was.

Jasper continued to reassure and calm him as he picked him and helped him up into Tex's saddle. Together they had an uneventful and silent trip back to the Fields' Plantation. Jasper led Tex by the reigns, and the corporal was slouched forward resting on the horse's neck.

It took longer than expected, but they finally arrived at the plantation shortly after the ladies of the house had finished eating lunch. Their arrival caused quite a stir. Benjamin helped Jasper get the soldier upstairs and into another of the spare bedrooms, and Mrs. Fields sent someone else to fetch the local doctor.

"What on earth happened?" the women inquired almost in unison as soon as the man was settled.

The major remained as professional and decided to help him out as best he could by making up a plausible excuse.

"In the thick of battle 'tis easy to get turned 'round. He got lost, and has been wanderin' since. It's likely he came across some unscrupulous men on the road near here of an ill ilk," he reasoned. It was close enough to the truth as far as he was concerned. He did not know exactly what this "home guard" was exactly, but knew that they could be a real danger to him in his journey home if he was mistaken for a deserter.

He excused himself by requesting to have some time to rest and clean up prior to that night's festivities. In the solitude of his room, Jasper checked for his Letter of Marque from Beauregard. Somehow he felt that he was going to need that before he returned to his assignment.

He then took the time to do exactly as he had suggested. A couple of hours of extra sleep would not go amiss.

Jasper Whitlock had attended more than one cotillion in his life, but never as an officer. He dressed in the most formal attire he had with him, which included his uniform, saber, and a yellow sash about his waist. (Of course he had his wide-brimmed hat, but that was not appropriate for a formal event indoors.)

Much to his dismay, he had slept longer than expected, and he could hear the sounds of guests as soon as he opened the door to his room. He made his way to the end of the hall and down the stairs where Rachel greeted him.

"I do hope you rested y'self well, sir," she said genuinely, as she pinned a boutonniere on his chest. "Miss Kaywinnet is already in the ballroom, I'll fetch her presently."

She spun around immediately and started off down the hall, but stopped as Jasper addressed her.

"Any word on the soldier?"

"None, sir, other than the doctor said he's restin'," she answered.

"I thank you kindly. Please let me know if there is any news of importance."

"Yessir," she replied as she nodded. "And sir, if you'll forgive me for sayin' sir," Rachel continued, "you're lookin' mighty refreshed. Miss Kaywinnet is mighty lucky to have you as an escort this evening."

With that, she turned quickly and hurried down the hall. Jasper hoped that she had done so fast enough that she had not seen him flush with that compliment. Although he had made himself as presentable as possible, he felt the pangs of war about him, and still felt guilty for his comfort and near gluttony while so many other soldiers were going to bed without enough food.

In spite of his natural guilt and sense of duty, he forgot those feeling when he saw Rachel leading Kaywinnet towards him. Her natural beauty that had already impressed him was surpassed by her appearance this evening. She was slightly flushed, which accentuated her hazel eyes and the slight red in her hair. Her eyes were also mesmerizing to him as they seemed unusually dilated.***

Once again, the usually calm and collected major found himself feeling like a bumbling idiot in her presence.

"It is truly a pleasure to see you again, Major Whitlock," she said sweetly as she offered her hand to him.

"Not at all," he replied as he took her hand, "the pleasure is all mine." This time, Jasper focused to make sure and not repeat his _faux pas_ of the first time he met her.

"I cannot wait to show you off," Kaywinnet whispered as she took Jasper's arm so that they could make their way to the ballroom.

He could sense her excitement, almost like an innocent crush. He was rather flattered and not without emotion himself. However, he had to remember that he was here tonight for no other reason than to repay Mrs. Fields' kindness. Of course it would be hard to do dancing with Kaywinnet… whose light blue dress complimented his uniform, even down to her yellow trim.

As they neared the ballroom, Jasper could hear the stringed instruments playing a waltz (he did not recognize the particular song being played) and the natural chatter of dozens of voices in conversation. They were greeted by a man serving almost as a guard to the room. He stood wearing very formal attire, and as they entered announced,

"Miss Kaywinnet Fields accompanied by tonight's guest of honor, Major Jasper Whitlock."

Jasper could have been knocked over with a feather by the shock of that announcement. However, even being surprised as a guest of honor could not have compared to the shock of the reaction in the room. The musicians stopped playing, the chatter ceased, and even the clatter of silverware on plates died out, as the entire room seemed to turn towards him then broke out in applause. There were some cheers and even a random "huzzah" or two shouted from somewhere in the crowd.

The room seemed to close in around him as they all seemed to clamor towards him, but that was quickly stopped by Mrs. Fields who seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Please, have some decorum," she said loudly clapping her hands over her head. "Our guest and representative of our brave men fighting for mighty Mississippi's freedom is not here to be mobbed."

Obediently, they all seemed to back off, but still watched him intently as he greeted his hostess.

"You are too kind, and do a great injustice to those currently in battle by comparing me to them," Jasper said, hoping to deflect some of the attention that was rightfully embarrassing him.

"Oh if anything Major, I do you too little justice," she replied with the same sugary sweetness that he had come to expect from her. "Now, you are here to dance and to be seen. After all, what else is a cotillion for?"

She guided Jasper and Kaywinnet toward the dance floor with such vigor that some may well have though she was pushing them. When she got them to the center, she called for some music and hurried off to the side to watch.

Jasper's mind was rushing with thoughts as the quintet started off a lively waltz. It was clear to him that Mrs. Fields had intentions for Jasper and her daughter.

He held Kaywinnet appropriately for the waltz as they began dancing, but Jasper was distant as he continued to think about this highly irregular situation he was in.

_Doesn't she recognize that I am going to leave in the morning?_ he thought to himself.

The dance continued and Jasper was going through the motions but not noticing little things, such as Kaywinnet's inability to take her eyes off of him.

_Why would she go through all of this trouble to get the two of them together for this dance?_ He pondered. He looked over to the side where she was watching the two of them with an intensity he had not seen before.

As he looked at her, he suddenly felt her hope. That's when it hit him: Mrs. Fields was conspiring to find a way to keep him there. There was no way he could allow this. He needed to think, but this was neither the time nor the place. Jasper's only respite from this was right in front of him.

It was, however, unfortunate timing because as he directed his full attention to his partner, the waltz was clearly coming to an end.

As the music stopped, dancers separated and gave the obligatory applause, after which many guests on the dance floor took the opportunity to try and make his acquaintance, but the hostess would have none of it. She clapped her hands and called for more music.

Jasper's respite would have the fortune of what was going to be another waltz. _Do they not know any other type of song?_ he wondered.

He still did not recognize the tune, but it was much slower than the two previous lively songs he had heard. In spite of the style, it allowed a surprising amount of freedom for Jasper and Kaywinnet to get close.

As they danced, still staring deeply at Jasper, Kaywinnet moved into him so as to be cradled by his right arm. He took the clue and slid his hand to the middle of her back. Their bodies touched at the torso in a manner that was not considered to be acceptable in polite society, but that did not stop them from continuing. Although Jasper led the dance, Kaywinnet led the tension between them. She took further strides, which required Jasper to step further and deeper into each step. Their bodies moved together, with near full contact in spite of the waltz. As he focused on her, Jasper could sense her excitement in more ways than one. For him too the crowd and music were drowning out, as his own excitement began to grow.

For them, this was no dance. This was vertical expression of a horizontal desire.

All too soon, the song ended. While others clapped, they remained in a lingering embrace that was only broken by guests finally being allowed to meet him.

First was retired officer from the Mexican American War too old to serve in the current conflict, who was expressing his gratitude and jealousy. Then there was the mayor, who felt excused from military service due to his position as an elected official. Then there was another plantation owner who he had met earlier that day.

It seemed that everyone there, had a profound respect for him and his willing service to the Confederate States of America, but each had an equally profound and compelling excuse not to serve.

To be brutally honest he found their constant chatter to be more of a self-affirmation for their "inability" to fight as he did. His sense of decorum would not allow him to express these feelings, especially since somewhere, deep down, he still recognized his guilty conscience of being relieved of his post under Beauregard.

However, in all the commotion he had hardly noticed that he had been pushed to the side of the ballroom while the music continued. What was worse, he had somehow become separated from Kaywinnet.

Jasper politely moved from one conversation to the next as he sought her out. It pained him to admit to himself, but there was the very real possibility that Mrs. Fields' plan had worked. He wanted… no… he needed to find her, if for no other reason than it was rude to leave the side of the woman you are escorting, but it seemed that there was a never-ending line of people wanting to speak with him.

The gentlemen all wanted to speak of the Cause, honor, and glory. The women, on the other hand, were looking for nothing more than stories of his actions and bravery. There was one young woman who was particularly vigilant in following him. She was a tall, raven haired young lady who attempted to dress herself to a level of beauty beyond her natural means. Admittedly, she did have rather ample cleavage, but it seemed to Jasper that her breasts were an unfortunate victim in a battle between her corset, trying to push them out of her clothing, and her dress, which was desperately struggling to keep them in.

Jasper truly did not know how so many people could fit in this room. At one point, he had managed to come across Caroline, but she did not know where her sister had managed to escape.

This was not the kind of spectacle that he wanted, and Jasper honestly felt uncomfortable to be the center of attention. He was frustrated enough that he was almost ready to damn his honor as a gentleman and speak his mind, when he heard an announcement (from the same man who announced his arrival) that the time was now ten o'clock.

Apparently, this was not the end of the dance, but some people slowly said their farewells and exited. This was apparently the time when the younger guests made their way home while the adults stayed behind. This was not normal by any standard that Jasper knew of, but it gave him the perfect opportunity to make his escape.

He too headed towards the main entrance speaking with people the whole way. It was a tolerable enough of an escape, for which he was quite grateful.

As he reached the doorway, he turned and gave a final look around the room hoping to see his date for the evening, but could not find Kaywinnet. He was disappointed, but he also knew that this might be insulting to Mrs. Fields, who had tried so hard to get them together.

However, when comparing her wrath to the incessant questions and conversations he faced without the "children" present… he was more willing to face Mrs. Fields in the morning.

With that he made his way down the hall and up the stairs without any further delay. He paused, realizing that it was unlikely that anyone would have lit the candles in his room since he was retiring before the end of the dance. Jasper stopped and took a candle so that he could light one in his room, but was surprised to find that his room was already lit.

However, to his even greater surprise, someone was still in his room!

"Now Major Whitlock… I wondered how long it would for you to find me," Kaywinnet said with a smile.

*Although the first "Home Guard" units began in late 1861, they did not come into prominence until 1862. It is certainly plausible that Jasper would not be familiar with it at this time.

**Dialect: yeller = yellow

*** In the 19th century makeup was generally considered unacceptable as prostitutes commonly wore it. In lieu of make up, women would make their eyes stand out by using extract of belladonna root, or apply a very light coat of rouge so as to appear slightly flushed.


	8. The Home Guard

**A/N: It has been a while since my last post. Life has been life. Thank you for your patience. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. Everything else is a product of my overactive imagination. No copyright infringement intended. Many thanks to my amazing betas who are both better than I deserve: Wuogkat & MaleficentKnits. Please recognize that some of the seemingly awkward phrases in the dialogue are intended to be period appropriate.**

April 13, 1862

The sun was setting on the fourth day since Major Whitlock had left the Field's plantation. He was making good time on his journey and anticipated arriving in Robinsonville, Mississippi the following morning. Mrs. Fields had assured him that he would be able to get a free ride on a riverboat as a personal favor for her from the ship's captain.

That, however, would have to wait at least another day, while he slept one more night under the stars. Between growing up in Texas and his service in the Confederate army, Jasper was no stranger to the night sky. He was glad that he had already stopped to make camp for the night, as the sun was deep on the horizon painting a red light across the sky on the clouds.

"Looks like we're in for decent weather," Jasper said rhetorically to Tex as he fetched his canteen the saddle.

He was referencing an old mariner's tale that he had picked up from sailors in Galveston. _Red at night, sailor's delight; red in the morning, a sailor's warning._

"I'll be back, ol' buddy," he told Tex as he set off to find some fresh water for the night. It shouldn't be too difficult since he had spent a good portion of the afternoon riding parallel to a stream on the north side of the road.

* * *

The Fields family had done more to help Jasper than he could have either imagined or asked for. Not only did he receive a good contact in Robinsonville, but he had clean clothes, his horse had been cared for, and even had his food restocked. He enjoyed the dried fruit and nuts that he had been given, but had finished the last of those provisions earlier in the day. Now a beef stew simmered using the last of the dried meat and rice Mrs. Fields had been so intent on giving him. Although his cooking was not as good as what had been available while serving under Beauregard, one smell let Jasper know that the ingredients were far superior to anything he had eaten while in the field.

"Bet you wish you weren't left with an oat bag don't ya?" Jasper called out to Tex.

Tex whinnied, seemingly in reply as though he knew what Jasper had just said.

"Huh…," Jasper grunted, "just let me know when you're hungry." With that, he tossed another stick on the fire before sitting back against the fallen tree he had been reclining against.

He closed his eyes, dropped his head back, and let his senses take over. He felt the temperature continue to drop as the now darkened sky got deeper into the night. He could smell the stew as it simmered on the fire only a few feet away. He heard the crickets chirp hither and yon and thought about how, in spite of the cool weather, they seemed to be out earlier than normal this time of year.

Sudenly he felt something that made him a little anxious. He felt as if he was being watched. He could sense a kind of excitement from another person who was unknown, but also very close. Tex whinnied, and Jasper knew he sensed it too. He didn't know what he could do, but Jasper knew he had to act.

"Well Tex," Jasper said loud enough for any unseen stranger to hear, "I think this grub's about ready. D'you still have my mess tin?"

As casually as he could, Jasper got up and walked over to Tex and approached his saddle. As he did, Jasper could sense that someone was indeed watching him, and the closer he moved toward Tex seemed to make this extra sensation increasingly nervous.

He moved to the saddlebags and when he turned to open one, Jasper heard a soft footstep a few feet away from him. He grabbed the hilt of his saber, swung his arm wide around as he spun on his heel, and placed the tip of his sword's blade on the neck of a dark haired man about his size standing right in front of him with a gun pointed straight at him.

The stranger stood there, upright and resolute. Just like him, he too had gone a few days without shaving, but more importantly he stood with the same cold resolve that Jasper felt in his defense. Not just resolve, though, Jasper saw confidence as he stared into the stranger's eyes. His face was so convincing that if Jasper could not sense the fear the man was suppressing, he might have actually had to think of a better way out of it.

"Well?" Jasper asked more than stated, as he drilled his eyes into the stoic man before him waiting for a response.

It was only after waiting a few awkward seconds before he realized that his back was to the fire. All of the superbly intimidating looks that Whitlock could have mustered at that moment were wasted as the stranger could not see his face in the first place.

"Clearly," Jasper drawled, "you could strike me as easily as I could end you."

He heard a soft (and perhaps relieved) breath from him.

"...so rather than exploring the infinite depths of stupidity before us, I would much prefer to enjoy a hot meal."

Jasper sheathed his sword as casually as though he were putting on his gloves or carrying on any other menial task, turned, and rummaged for a tin cup* from Tex's saddle bags. The newcomer was silent with shock at Jasper's reaction and failed to do anything more than stare, mouth agape, while Jasper returned to the fire for his food.

"I don't think you understand who I am," the man called out, still standing near Tex.

"You," Jasper said as he scooped stew into the tin, "are someone who is going to sleep hungry tonight... I didn't know to expect company," he added with a smile.

Returning to his senses, the stranger closed the twenty or so feet to the fire and aimed his pistol squarely on the major once again.

"I am Marion Hutchinson of the Mississippi Home Guard, and I am placing you under arrest for desertion," he said with all the confidence he could muster.

Jasper, having filled his tin, sat back against the log he had used for a seat ignoring his guest.

"Is this a joke to you, sir?"

"Not at all, Marion Hutchinson of the Mississippi Home Guard," he added hoping to get a reaction, "but if you are trying to impress me, you failed way back over yonder when you pulled a gun rather than introducing yourself politely."

He took a bite and looked up from his stew waiting for Marion's response.

They stared at each other across the fire in silence. As coolly as anyone could, Jasper simply took another bite of stew.

"I can not abide cowards and scuffs who shirk their responsibility," Marion barked, "and you sir are the worst of the lot. How can an officer abandon his responsibility?"

"That is a good question," Jasper began, "but a better question is, what is the 'Mississippi Home Guard,' and why does it seem to be manned with people too damn stupid or lazy to recognize the difference between a deserter and someone on dispatch?"

"Every deserter has an excuse!"

"Hmph..."

"And you are no different," he said with a smile.

"I have signed letter of marque and personal dispatch from General Pierre Gustav Toutant Beauregard that says otherwise."

In the silence Jasper continued with his dinner.

"What is your mission?" Marion demanded finally.

"None, other than to return to my service with the Texas 2nd," Jasper explained. "I was on temporary assignment to Beauregard as his adjutant, but have been released and am returning to General Hébert in Galveston."

This changed Hutchinson's entire demeanor. He lowered his pistol, and relaxed his stance.

"Were you at Shiloh?"

Jasper nodded.

Hutchinson holstered his gun and sat down opposite Jasper at the fireside. "What happened?" he finally asked.

"That depends on who you are and why you want to know."

"I already told you," he said somewhat distrustingly, "I am from the Mississippi..."

"… Home Guard," Jasper said in unison with him. "That's all fine and dandy, but I've already met one of your boys kicking the shit out a corporal and draggin' him behind a horse. If you want to know anything about me, you best be explaining what makes you think you can pull a gun on me without dyin'."

"I already did that now, didn't I?" he half-chuckled.

Then, without any warning, Jasper let go of his spoon, unholstered his gun, and sighted it on Hutchinson, all before the spoon hit the ground.

"Now, do we really need to go down this road again?" Japser asked in a very frustrated voice. "The only reason you are alive right now is because I allow it."

Staring down at the major's pistol, knowing that he had no alternative, the Mississippian gave in reluctantly. "What do you want to know?"

"My primary concern is over this _Home Guard_. I have never heard of such a thing, but both encounters have given me every reason to think that I should be fightin' you as much as I am Billy Yank."

From the look on his face it was doubtful that Jasper could have insulted Hutchinson in any greater fashion. Then, in a voice filled with clear hostility...

"The home guard is in place to protect the Great States of the Confederacy in the absence of her armies now off fightin' throughout the south."

"Then how is it any different than the armies of Mississippi?"

"Our authority comes from President Davis hisself, and we don't answer to anyone else," he said quickly before adding, "... especially not to no Confederate regulars."

"So what is it that you've been commissioned to do then?"

"We clean up your mess," he blurted.

"Our mess?" Jasper asked with genuine concern. "What exactly do you mean by that?" He wanted to use much stronger language, but there was no need to put the man back on the defensive. Instead, Jasper showed his authenticity by lowering his pistol and leaning forward like a child listening eagerly to a story.

"With all her soldiers gone, Mississippi is left to herself ain't she?"

"Theoretically," Jasper conceded but encouraged, "but we're doing all we can to protect Mississippi and the rest of the western theater. It's not all about Mississippi."

"Yeah, I knows that, but whose gonna take care us? We gotta take care of our self, but ever since Shiloh, it seems that we're pickin' up alotta you boys runnin' away from it... now you tell me how that's protectin' anyone."

"So you're like some kind glorified constabulary?"

"Ain't that simple now, is it?" Hutchinson leaned back and drew a deep breath as if searching for the right words. "It's like this... everyone expected a quick end to the war; a kind of single-battle-for-freedom and all would be over, and we'd be free of them damn Yankees. Hell, no one thought it'd take this long and b'for you knew it people started runnin' home. Some're scared, others just needin' to work on the farms, or whatever excuse they comed up with. Well someone's gotta keep 'em all honest to their contract..."

"... and that's where you come in?" Jasper asked.

"Perty much," he said with a nod. "See, they're startin' t'run and all that's gonna do is make us less safe."

"Well if you're so in favor protecting the home front, why aren't you fighting like the rest of us?"

"I was out there," he said quickly, almost defensively, "but I'm stuck here convalescing."

Then there was a long pause. Hutchinson simply hung his head for a moment as though he was ashamed.

"I ain't from Mississippi, see? Ima Virginian. I was up there last year with the Army of the Kanawha... it was a small regiment up in the mountains of the western part of the state. At a place called Cheat Mountain, I myself got caught up in an engagement that looked as organized as a bunch of goats given free range. Survived that blasted excuse for a battle... We lost five men for each o' theirs. To call that general incompetent would be too kind."

He paused again, obviously reliving the experience in his mind. His anger was clear even without Jasper's honed senses. Even he was surprised how enthralled he was to learn Hutchinson's story.

"Davis called the general to Richmond," he finally continued, "and the rest of us to Tennessee where we got licked at Ft. Donelson, back in February. That's where I got my own bit of hurt... a ball to the leg. Ain't as bad as expected, but I still needed to be treated. So followed them down this way with the medics. I been here since."

Jasper sat there in rapt silence, with a greater appreciation for the stranger. He was not some power-hungry man intent on abusing his authority. Marion Hutchinson was a man who was demoralized and defeated by his own injury, and Jasper's previous feelings of resentment were quickly replaced with pure empathy. Although he didn't realize it, his feelings were having a direct effect on Hutchinson as well.

"I heard about Donelson," Jasper spoke up. "Grant was the Yankee general there."

"Yup. That's U.S. Grant... the bastard. You know they say his initials stand for 'Unconditional Surrender'."

"That was the Army of Kentucky, wasn't it?"

"Well, Army of Central Kentucky at least. I aint heard nothin' 'bout them in a while. Any idea where they're at now?" he asked.

"Believe it or not, I do." Jasper explained. "After Donelson they disbanded and joined the Army of Mississippi under Beauregard. I fought with them at Shiloh... an sure nuff we saw your boy, 'Unconditional Surrender' there."

Hutchinson hung his head at the mention of that battle.

"You were there," he said to the major. "What happened?"

"The quick answer is we got beaten like a painted lady."** Now it was Jasper's turn to feel a little of his own shame and embarrassment. "Y'see, we shoulda whipped them on the first night, but it was a viscous battle and daylight waned fast."

Jasper was choosing his words carefully. It would have been easy to blame the general for poor decision making, but Jasper still had enough respect for Beauregard that he did not want to sully the general's name or his legacy.

"Then we got our hands on some bad recon... telegram said their reinforcements weren't coming. Mix that with thinking our position was better than it actually was, and you got a recipe for what happened. Multiple brigades showed up and we were out numbered and unprepared. By the time I showed up on the field, I was jus' tryin' to hold the line. In no time flat, we was licked and pushed south."

The spring night air was getting noticeably cooler as they sat there in silence, until Hutchinson finally spoke up.

"Sounds about like Cheat Mountain. At least Beauregard knew what he was doing... there's a big difference between losing when you outnumbered and losin' cuz your general's incompetent."

Jasper never would have called Beauregard _incompetent_, but he sure as hell would not have said that it was lost due to numbers alone. Beauregard had made some foolhardy mistakes, but mistakes are not synonymous with incompetence. However, rather than attempting to go down that road, Jasper changed the topic in his mind and in the conversation.

"Who was your leader up in Virginia?" Jasper asked.

"Some idiot name Lee." There was clear pain and even a little hatred in his voice just mentioning that name. "General Robert Lee he was. They said that he's a hero from the Mexican War, but I didn't see nothing special 'bout him. All he seemed to do was let us git killed."

"Lee... the name rings a bell, but I don't really know anything about him***."

"So how do you do it?" Hutchinson asked.

"Forgive my ignorance... how do we do what?"

"You officers lead men and boys into battle, stand in back and watch us dyin' or gettin' shot up, and you don't ever seem to care. You just sit back in safety, and worry about how the battle will 'fect your 'honor'."

Jasper had not thought about this kind of question since the night he went down to the battlefield. Truly this was concern of the front line soldier. To so many of the poor farmers who were fighting for whatever reasons they had, none of them were fighting for their honor or a commission.

"That's a tough question," Jasper responded with a level of confidence that calmed his guest. "You seem to think that we sit back and watch with little interest. Let me be honest, when the battle is raging... we don't think about men. We don't think about families. All we think about is logistics and strategy. We look at maps, and dispatches from officers, and how many men we have to move."

Marion dropped his head. It was as though all of his ideas were confirmed. "I shoulda known," he breathed.

"You only asked about the fight," Jasper retaliated, "there's a big difference for us between the thick of battle and any other time."

"How so? Ain't never seen any officer care about us."

"Just cuz you don't see it doesn't mean it ain't there," Jasper explained. "I've worked with two armies; one in Texas and one in Tennessee. In both places I have gotten letters from wives and sisters and mothers and other lady folk all asking for the same thing: they ask us to make certain that their men return home safely. Some pray to God, beggin' for safety in the field, and askin' for His help in gittin' them back after combat.

"But we don't have time to answer all those letters, and we certainly don't have the time to call in each soldier whose 'Betty' wrote us.

"Worst of all, none of you know the one thing that remains true for damn near every officer I ever seen; every night, before we go down, we are on our knees askin' God for the exact same thing they are. Only we are also begging Him for more than those moms and wives. We're asking guidance and inspiration as we read those maps, as we move those troops, and every single night we are hoping to God that all that training we've put you through has sunk in so that you will, in fact, go home."

With that, there was nothing more to say. Marion Hutchinson felt ashamed for thinking such things about the officers. It was as though his father or an uncle had just reprimanded him, and never had he imagined that the officers were concerned about anything other than how a victory or a loss would effect their social standing.

They sat there in silence except for the incidental sounds of night: a crackling fire, crickets, and an occasional noise from Tex to remind them that he was there. Jasper, after debating silently with himself, opened up about his first encounter with the Home Guard. He recounted the story of Corporal Lost having been beaten and stuffed in a bag.

"I've only been in the Guard a short time, and I've heard of a few bounties for catching deserters," Marion said, "but I have never heard of anything like that."

"A bounty is actually offered for Confederate deserters?" Jasper asked incredulously.

"Yup. Officers are worth more of course." He chuckled as he added, "that's why I was so excited to try and catch you."

Jasper let out a slight laugh as well, but did not really have more desire to talk. With little more than incidental exchanges, the two men prepared to bed down for the evening. Jasper finished his stew and both he and Marion laid out their bedrolls. Jasper didn't realize that Marion had dropped his rucksack in the woods just before confronting him.

As he lay there, gazing aimlessly at the stars peeking through the trees above, the major pondered the role of the Home Guard and how it fit with the war effort. As a concept, everything made sense to him, but still it didn't seem right that those who fled the war could be hunted down like a runaway slave. He To make matters worse, he couldn't get a certain image out of his head. Could it be that the various armies of the Confederacy were going to fight the Union on one side and potentially the Guard on the other. The strategy-minded major could not help but wonder if the Confederate States had just declared war on itself.

* * *

*A simple tin cup served many purposes from morning coffee (if available) to a makeshift bowl for whatever food was served.

**Painted lady – Slang term once used to describe a prostitute, as they were the only class of females that would wear make up.

*** In April of 1862, Lee was not yet Commander of the Army of Northern Virginia, where he made a name for himself as one of the greatest generals in American history. He was serving in Eastern Virginia about to make himself known in the Peninsula Campaign.


	9. Of Pickpockets, Poker, and Preachers

**A/N: Major Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer; no copyright infringement intended. Everything else, except for geography and one overt reference to Greek mythology, belongs to my overactive imagination. I must continue to thank my team of betas: WuogKat, MaleficentKnits, and LadyRip. They are so awesome that I shrink in their presence! (Which may be a good thing... hopefully it makes me look thinner.)**

April 14, 1862

As expected, Major Whitlock awoke to a beautiful morning. The eastern sky was already turning a clear blue letting him know that he had slept longer than anticipated. He had stayed awake much longer than usual the night before and now it was close to six.

What he did not expect, however, was to wake up to the smell of smoke. Jasper was startled for a brief moment before remembering that he had, in fact, spent the night with company. The night before he had met Marion Hutchinson, a Virginian displaced through a series of odd events in the war and who was now stuck in northern Mississippi serving as a member of the Confederate Home Guard. Thinking Major Whitlock was AWOL, he had attempted to capture the major and return him to combat. Had he been successful, Hutchinson would most assuredly have received a handsome bounty. Instead of apprehending an officer, however, Hutchinson gained a partner for the evening, which he preferred. Being so close to the western front of the war, it was safer not to sleep by oneself.

Jasper also knew this but generally did not care. He trusted in his ability to defend himself, but more recently he was learning how to trust his senses and observe his surroundings more acutely.

"Wakey, wakey," Marion piped up. He was sitting a few feet away from the fire as he rummaged through his knapsack.

"What're you so chipper for?" Jasper drawled.

"Nothin' yet," he replied still digging for some treasure. "I'm just settin' my mood early. Gon' be a great day."

Jasper was not convinced of that yet. He reached for his boots and tapped each of them upside down out of habit before putting them on. He got up and made his way toward his horse, Tex. Jasper pulled his saddle bag down from the tree branch.

"You know this area very well?" Jasper asked his companion. but he knew the answer before he even started searching for his breakfast.

"Depends… whaddya need to know?"

"How far is Robinsonville?" Jasper knew he would arrive that day, but he did not know how long it would take him to get there.

"If you leave by sun up, you'll get there by lunchtime."

"That's good enough for me to call it a good day," he replied turning around with his canteen and his last piece of hard tack. "Not sure how much I want to break my fast with this."

Hutchinson held up a hunk of summer sausage he had been looking for in his knapsack and simply said, "I'm sorry I ain't got enough to share… didn't know to expect company."

Jasper couldn't help but offer a wry smile knowing that he had used a similar line the night before to get a reaction out of the stranger and avoid sharing the last of his stew. It was a little short-sighted on his part, but he simply refused to share the last of his good food.

"Hmph," Jasper grunted. "Perhaps I shoulda shared with you last night after all."

He wasn't just saying this because he was hoping to avoid hard tack but because he now felt guilty for not sharing. Jasper was mad at how they first met and was not interested in doing anything helpful. Now, realizing that Marion was just another man stuck in the purgatory between battle and home, they were much more alike than he had originally thought.

Perhaps what bothered him the most was that his emotions had been cloudier than normal the night before.

"Well, I might find a scrap extra in there somewhere," Marion said.

"Don't worry 'bout it… I'll be off soon enough."

Hutchinson smiled. "Are you really that eager to get back to Texas?" he asked eagerly.

"What if a riverboat was all that stood between you and Virginia?"

"It wouldn't! Too many mountains." The two men shared a chuckle over this before Marion added, "I see your point."

For the next half hour, the two men shared stories from home and training while Jasper packed the few belongings he camped with. Before long it was finally light enough for the major to see the road well enough to travel. "Godspeed," he said tipping his hat to Hutchinson as he left for what he anticipated to be his last day in Mississippi.

Three completely uneventful hours later, Major Whitlock finally saw a break in monotonous countryside. There, up ahead were the first signs of life since he had departed that morning. A massive building at least three floors tall broke the horizon, and soon enough Jasper heard the sounds of civilization. The trees had been replaced by fields. Before long, the open air had given way to the bustle and traffic of the town.

Robinsonville was not a city by any stretch of one's imagination, but it was a very functional town and makeshift port. Given any decent location on the Mississippi River, nearly any town could become a "port city." However the advent of shallow-keeled steamboats allowed people now to travel easily _up_ river. This significantly altered the way towns courted customers. Unfortunately for Robinsonville, it was nestled a mere thirty miles south of Memphis, Tennessee. This location made it little more than a brief stop regardless of whether someone was traveling up or down current.

As Jasper entered town, he was intrigued by the looks that he drew. Clearly the locals were quite accustomed to seeing strangers but, apparently, not so many on horseback. Or perhaps it was his uniform that made them stare. Either way, it was obvious that there was something different about this Confederate officer trotting through town.

Looking up he clearly saw steam softly billowing up above the buildings on the far side of town. It would be easy to find the port. This simply meant that Jasper would have to trot through town and not waste time making conversation, which he preferred anyway. Although he was hungry and wanted to find some real food, his primary goal was to make contact with the captain and arrange his transport south.

He rounded a final curve to see a single pier with only one steamboat moored to it. The ship itself was a beehive of activity. Deck hands scurried all over the place, while the boat's mate barked orders down from the top deck. On the dock itself stood a few stacks of boxes and crates still waiting to be loaded. Overseeing it all was a well-dressed man with a bulbous head, and a small but fine hat balanced precariously on top. He had to be the owner taking his goods to market because he lorded over the cargo like a parent who worried that his child was about to be thrown from a horse.

"Damn roustabout*!" Jasper heard the shouting over all the other noises at the dock. "Git them boxes moved without bustin' 'em or you payin' fo' it!"

Jasper dismounted and walked toward the ship, completely oblivious to the constant yelling around him.

"You too damn stupid to know how to stack?" the mate shouted at an unseen deckhand.

"I am looking for your captain," Jasper demanded of the mate.

"He's busy. Whatcha need?" he replied before turning back onto the roustabouts. "We gotta cast off in another hour! You ain't got time to move that slow!"

The well-dressed man stepped forward, obviously to protest Jasper's interruption.

"I have personal correspondence for him –," Jasper then turned to the stranger to stop him before he started complaining "– and it must be delivered at once."

"Stick!" the mate yelled to a skinny man on deck. "Take over for a minute." Then, beckoning Jasper, he said, "come on... up front."

Wasting no time, Jasper hopped onto the riverboat. He walked towards the front deck of the ship and pulled Mrs. Fields' letter from his jacket pocket while waiting for the captain.

"Who are you and what do you need?" the captain asked before he exited onto the deck.

Jasper stood upright for no other reason than to be polite as he prepared to ask such a great favor. However, as the captain saw a uniformed Confederate soldier standing on the foredeck of his boat, he straightened up himself.

"I apologize," the captain said rather abruptly. "What can I do for you?"

"I am Major Jasper Whitlock, and I am on dispatch back to Galveston, Texas. I seek passage for myself," he hesitated, "and my horse."

"Hmmph," the captain grunted. "I'm sure we can make some accommodation for you, Major, but the horse maybe trickier. Perhaps a reduced fare?"

"If I may, sir," Jasper said as he handed Mrs. Fields' letter over to the captain.

He looked at it strangely and turned it over a couple of times as though he expected the writing on it to change. He then handed it back to Jasper, still unopened.

"Is there a problem?" he asked the captain.

"Not by me there ain't."

The major was confused.

"I am J.P. Cone, and you are standing aboard _Meriwether's Dream_."

Jasper looked down at the letter:

_Sydney Brockwell_

_Riverboat Charon_

Jasper was mortified. He was so intent on getting to Robinsonville that he had failed to take the time to confirm the name of the ship or its captain. For a man who had been in battle, high society, and staring down death's door, Jasper Whitlock had always managed to maintain his composure. However, an error of this magnitude – in Jasper's eyes – was inexcusable. He didn't even realize that his jaw had gone slack with embarrassment or that his mouth was hanging open.

"I am assuming that this letter is requesting free passage," Captain Cone finally responded. "Well, you're in luck… I saw the _Charon _in Memphis this morning. I guess she'll be southbound in the next day or so."

"I thank you for your kindness and your help," Whitlock said, returning to his senses. "I shan't take any more of your time. Please accept my deepest apologies for my error."

Bowing his head as a _thank you _and _farewell _all in one, Jasper took his leave, completely amazed at his mistake. He could not believe that he had just presented a letter to the wrong captain and was even more mortified to realize that he had simply assumed that the ship would be the one he sought.

"If truly you are in a hurry," Cone called out behind him, "the offer still stands. I'll leave word with the clerk that you are welcome at a fifty percent reduction in passage… and your horse is welcome, too."

Jasper turned around, again out of sheer politeness. "I am much obliged for your kindness."

"Anything for a fighting Patriot**," he said. "We're setting off roundabouts another hour or so. I'll be here if you change your mind before then."

Jasper simply could not bring himself to turn back around. He continued on, hopped back onto the dock, where he got a rather derisive look from the gentleman standing there. His squinted eyes and furrowed brows showed that he was inconvenienced, as though Jasper's meeting with the captain had actually adversely affected his cargo's placement aboard the boat. Had he not been in uniform, Jasper would not have tolerated this contempt from a holier-than-thou Planter.

He did, however, brush the man's shoulder as he passed. Jasper muttered something about not enough room on the dock but made no attempt to deliver it with any sincerity. Reaching dry land, he untied and mounted Tex and returned to the town proper, where he located an inn hoping to find a good meal.

Upon entering the inn, Jasper was hit with the smell of fresh foods that only made his mouth water and his stomach growl. This was bound to be his best meal in days, especially after the hard tack*** he had for breakfast.

As he waited for service, he looked around the room. It was filled with all manner of knick knacks and personal touches. The room was large with about twenty tables and about half full of diners. There was one table with a poker game and another surrounded by a family that was dressed in what appeared to be their finest apparel, but Jasper could not have imagined where they may have been to justify such attire. The walls were covered with an expensive wallpaper that appeared to be rather ornate. To Jasper, the quality was disproportionate and out of place in a town the size of Robinsonville. He imagined that the owners were attempting to make the restaurant appear nicer than it actually was. Jasper would not have cared what the place looked like, as long as the food was good.

"You stayin' or payin'?" an aproned-man with a bushy mustache asked as he approached Jasper's table.

"I beg your pardon," he responded.

"Do you need a room or are just havin' a meal?" the stranger answered.

"Well, that depends…would you happen to know when the _Charon _is due to come through next?"

"Yeah," he paused. "Should be through tomorrow sometime."

"It's later than I anticipated," Jasper responded. "I may well need a room tonight."

"Then we'll add the meal to your ticket," he replied.

"I am obliged." Jasper paused to think what he might want to eat, but he also did not know what was available. "I do believe that I will enjoy whatever you're offering today."

"Stew it is," the man muttered as he walked off before Jasper could inquire as to the cost of the meal… or the room for that matter.

Jasper had a few Confederate dollars with him, but he was limited as to the amount he could spend before getting home to Galveston. There was no way that he could spend it all on a bed and a meal. Needing to check to see exactly how much money he had, Jasper stood and placed his gloves and hat at his place to let anyone know that he was not abandoning his meal. Unfortunately, it was all in his money pouch… in his saddlebag.

Jasper was surprised how much he had to squint as he stepped outside. He had never really noticed how important his hat was to him. The oversized brim of his slouch hat protected him from the elements as well as the sun. Now he was stuck searching for a small, leather pouch without clear vision.

At least that was his initial excuse for not finding his money. He always kept his money on the back side of his left saddlebag. For whatever reason, however, the pouch was not where it should be.

The moment of hesitation turned into a minute of worry and then all-out panic. He finally removed the bag so that he could empty it and find his money. As he did this, he replayed the last day and a half in his mind. He had stopped in some one-horse town the day before and enjoyed a warm ale. He distinctly remembered fetching the small bag for his purchase. He also waited until he was a couple of miles removed from the tavern before replacing it, lest any wandering eyes observe where he stowed his money. He didn't touch his bags again until last night when he met Marion Hutchinson, who had…

"Son of a BITCH!" he ground out through clenched teeth.

It hit Jasper at once. Rarely did anyone wake up before him. Then, when Jasper mentioned departing at sun-up Hutchinson had smiled and even seemed eager for Jasper to leave. Jasper had interpreted these vibes as eagerness or excitement for him. Pondering on the moment, scene, and emotions, Jasper now understood his error. What he saw then as excitement was just that: excitement at the possibility of getting away with his crime. Hutchinson had successfully managed to pick Jasper's pocket.

"Gah!" he shouted out of exasperation. Some people nearby looked at him oddly, but he didn't care.

Now Jasper had to figure out how he was going to pay for his food, room, or anything else before returning to Texas. His mind was surprisingly blank. This did not affect him nearly as much as battle. In most situations he was The Major; a commanding presence who always knew what to do and how to handle anything. Right now he was flustered, worried, and too far from clear. He slung the saddlebag over Tex and went back inside.

His order of stew was already waiting for him by the time he returned, which only added a slight tinge of guilt to his worry. He knew that his only recourse was to be as honest as possible and inform the innkeeper as to his predicament. Of course Jasper could only imagine how many times an innkeeper in a transient town had heard hard luck stories such as this.

_Regardless of how many times he may have heard this, _Jasper thought to himself_, it is still the truth. _

Helooked around the room searching for the mustachioed man he had spoken to earlier when he realized that he might avoid the situation altogether. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to make sure that his head and emotions were both clear before walking to the back corner of the room where the table with poker players sat.

There were only three men playing and, as luck would have it, they were just finishing a hand as Jasper approached. He was not exactly sure how to approach the game without any money, but he did have an idea that he hoped would work.

"One hand, winner-take-all," Jasper said sliding his pocket watch across to the center of the table.

The three men looked up at him simultaneously, then back down at the watch, and then they started stealing glances at each other. No one seemed to want to speak up as the leader of the table, and Jasper secretly knew that this was his _in_. With no natural leader, he was sure that he could talk his way into one hand. To make the situation even better, he felt confident that his odds of winning improved with this knowledge.

"One hand. No raises. No mindtricks," Jasper coerced them. "This is as pure as a game of chance gets."

"Well, how do you propose that we ante up to this?" asked a squeaky-voiced man with an out-of-place top hat who sat to Jasper's left.

"It is a plain gold watch. You ante what you estimate to be its value."

There was some more shifting of eyes.

"Well, I can't match that," said the man sitting across the table. He spoke more to his companions than Jasper.

"Pony up what you can. I shan't be offended," Jasper reassured.

"Confidence seems to be your companion, stranger," the final of the three men finally spoke up. He had a deep voice that did not match his face. He had a rather long face without much of a chin, as his head seemed to melt into his neck. "What brings you to us?"

"Confidence," Jasper chuckled. "I dare say desperation is a more appropriate term. I was the unfortunate victim of a pickpocketing last night while I slept. Now I need a warm meal before setting off for Texas."

"How did an officer manage to fall prey to such unfortunate happenings?" the chinless man asked.

"Sleeping on the roadside may be a convenient method of travel, but it is accompanied by its close cousin 'chance,'" Jasper opined. "I know I could sell the watch, but I feel that fate has left me a debt that it is bound to repay soon enough."

"Fair enough," said the squeaky-voiced man as he threw in a couple dollars' worth of ante, "have a seat. Your deal, Clarence."

"But I ain't lookin' to play this hand," said the man in the middle.

"Which makes you the perfect dealer," said the chinless man, who also anted with a few dollars. "How exactly do you think this is to work?" he asked Jasper, who had since seated himself.

"We've all put our money in the pot. Now we deal the cards and play a game without any raising or debate," Jasper answered.

"Sounds like _Indian poker_," the man with the top hat said.

"Maybe," Whitlock responded, "but we have the same odds. With an honest dealer like this gentleman, what could be a purer game of chance?"

No one responded, but the table's silence was drowned out with the chatter from surrounding tables in the restaurant. Their lack of complaint was understood to be tacit consent of the simplified game and the non-player started shuffling the deck.

After five shuffles and cuts by all three players, he finally dealt the cards. Each player waited patiently until all the cards were dealt before looking at their hands. Jasper picked up his cards and fiddled with them without looking at any. He wanted to make sure to be the last, because he needed to observe any clues that he might find with the other players' reactions. The other men had different methods for looking at their hands, which proved beneficial to Jasper.

The squeaky-voiced man on the right picked up his cards all at once. A heavier than normal breath confirmed Jasper's sense that he was disappointed with the deal. The other man, however, seemed to get more optimistic with each card he picked up.

Jasper looked down at his cards. He was holding four hearts, but he also had a pair of twos: the heart and the spade. Now he had to make the decision. Go for flush or keep the pair?

"With no further betting, I do believe that this will be the quickest single hand in poker history," said the dealer. Speaking to the man on Jasper's left, he added, "How many?"

"Three," he said nearly throwing down his cards. This was a move in desperation, and Jasper knew that he was not going to have to worry about him winning.

"You, sir?" he asked Jasper.

_What do you want to do?_ Jasper asked himself. He stole a glance over at the man on his left. There he sat with an air of confidence and hope. Jasper had no choice. _I need the flush._

"One," Jasper said as he dropped the two of spades.

The dealer flung a card across the table. He left it on the table. While the others thought that he was nervous, Jasper once again was avoiding having his emotions get in the way of his observations.

"One," said the final player. He took his card and added it to his hand, shuffled them around, frowned, and released an exasperated breath.

However, something did not add up. Every external feature said that he was disappointed, but Jasper could clearly sense the man's excitement. He noted this then picked up his final card.

He wanted to shout as he saw the final part of his hand but held his expression stoically still. He was angry with fate as he stared down at the two of diamonds.

Not only was he missing the flush, but he was one card away from a very solid three-of-a-kind.

"Well, no point in folding," said the first man. "I have a King of Nothing," he squeaked as he set down his cards revealing a lousy hand featuring a king-high hand of no matches.

"Unfortunately," Jasper offered, setting down his cards revealing a pair of deuces, "I fared not much better."

"It looks like you won, Andrew," the first player said to the chinless man on Jasper's left.

"Sadly, I must admit my defeat," he said placing his cards on the table, face down.

Jasper breathed a deep sigh of relief as he reached forward and collected his watch and winnings. He gathered the currency and folded it in half to stow it away in his pocket.

"Surely you would not be so bold as to take our money and leave," said the man on Jasper's right.

"With all due deference, my time is limited, and I was only looking for one hand while I waited for my food," Jasper replied.

"Robert," said the chinless man, "just take your losses. You can handle losing a game by and by."

"I thank you, gentlemen, for the game," Jasper said as he stood. He nodded to them as if to bid _adieu_ and returned to his own table. He made sure not to look back toward that table as he really did not want to leave a bad impression of his intentions.

As he sat down, he saw that the special for the day was beef stew. It was not that different from what he had the night before, but he certainly would not complain. Taking a spoonful of stew, he was surprised to find that he now had a guest at his table. It was the chinless man from the poker game.

"My name is Andrew Cain," he introduced himself. "I wondered if I could have a moment of your time."

"Certainly, please sit."

"Firstly, I would like to apologize for my colleague. Robert is a good man, but when he loses, he seems to consider it to be a personal affront," he explained. "Secondly, if I may be so bold, I would like to know why you were so desperate for a hand of poker."

"My story is so fantastic that if I was to explain, I do not think that you would believe me to be honest."

"I was sitting on a pair of sixes in that hand, but I gave up because I believed that you were in greater need than you appeared. Please indulge my curiosity."

Jasper explained why he was traveling through Mississippi and where he was headed. He also told the story of how he lost his money, or to be more accurate how he had allowed it to be stolen through his own inattentiveness. Finally Jasper told that he was looking for the Riverboat _Charon_.

"Really? Is there any compelling reason for that vessel?" Mr. Cain asked.

"I have a contact with the captain who should help me on my way."

"Hmm…well, if you will accept some friendly advice, the _Charon_ has a bit of a reputation." He paused. "Let me just give you a more practical perspective. The _Charon_ is a single paddle, stern-wheeler. If you are in haste, I would recommend looking for a dual paddle, side-wheeler. They are faster and more maneuverable."

"I do thank you for your considerate advice, but I do implore you to expound upon what kind of reputation is associated with the _Charon_," Jasper requested.

"To be both considerate and polite, please allow me to say that its reputation is less than savory. I suspect that it has to do with the ship's moniker."

"Really?" Jasper asked, very surprised by this. "Is there a meaning behind _Charon _that I do not know?"

"Ah… According to Greek mythology, Charon was the boatman who carried the dead across river Styx to Hades."

"This is truly enlightening. Am I to infer that this is an appropriate description of the captain?"

Mr. Cain opened his mouth but did not say anything. It was clear that this may well have been a partial truth in his mind's eye.

"I wish you the best of luck in your travels," he said as he stood up. With a slight bow, Andrew returned to the poker table.

Jasper enjoyed his meal in a leisurely manner and made arrangements for his room for the night. After this, he took Tex to the public stable and then proceeded to walk around the town. Although it was not a large town, Jasper managed to while away a few hours. He stopped at the saloon for a beer, walked around the general store, and was stopped frequently by people asking him questions about the war.

After whiling away most of the afternoon roaming around, Jasper finally made his way back down to the river. _Meriwether's Dream _had long since departed, and another boat was already nearing the pier and preparing to dock. He could not see the name of the ship yet, but it was a stern-wheeler. At the opportunity to learn more about the ships, Jasper hurried down to the dock. By the time he had arrived, passengers were already getting off the riverboat. He looked up at the wheelhouse and saw _Charon_ written in bold, green letters.

Jasper was excited to know that he would be able to depart sooner than expected and wasted no time in looking for the captain. After accidentally asking a couple of passengers for assistance, a roustabout promised to get the captain. While he waited, Jasper pulled the letter from Mrs. Fields out of his pocket. He looked at it again:

_Sydney Brockwell_

_Riverboat Charon_

_Captain Brockwell_, he thought to himself. _I can remember that_. About that time the captain appeared and stepped off onto the dock, although he was not alone. Brockwell was conversing with a preacher who looked oddly familiar. Then it hit Jasper all at once. This preacher was none other than Mr. Elias Fields. This was the husband of the woman who wrote the letter he was now holding in his hand. Perhaps most intriguing, this was the man who was, according to his family, off fighting valiantly for the Confederacy.

Thinking quickly, Jasper reasoned that in spite of the letter from Mrs. Fields, there was no logical reason that he should know Mr. Fields. _I will just play dumb and be on my way._

"Well, what do you want?" the captain asked. Apparently the momentary pause of Jasper's shock had taken longer than he thought.

"If I may, sir," Jasper said handing over the letter.

The captain looked at the envelope for a moment before opening it. He read it silently to himself. He then handed the letter to the preacher.

"I plan on leaving within the hour. Will you be ready by then?" the captain asked.

"I will be ready. Am I correct to assume that you will be able to accommodate my horse?" Jasper asked.

"We don't have much cargo, so we can make arrangements for the time being."

Jasper thanked the captain but made sure to steal a peek over at the preacher who was stoically reading the letter. He couldn't tell if this information bothered Mr. Fields who gave no indication with his face; however, Jasper could sense a certain amount of anxiousness. Nonetheless, Jasper thanked the captain and departed to go and prepare for his departure down the Mighty Mississippi.

No matter how anxious that letter made Elias feel, it was nothing compared to how Jasper felt as he thought about the possibility of spending the next few days aboard a ship with the imposter preacher.

*Roustabout – Slang term for riverboat deckhands. They were usually poorly paid and did all the heavy labor.

** Many southerners compared the political aspects of the Civil War to be similar to the struggle for independence from Britain. Therefore some referred to each other as Patriots.

*** Hard tack is a simple biscuit made of flour, water, and sometimes salt. It was a diet staple for many soldiers in the Civil War.


	10. The Hunt Begins

**A/N: I cannot believe what this has become. My outline originally had this as a 7 chapter story. It is now looking to be at least 20 chapters. How did this happen? My many thanks to those of you who read, special thanks to TTC Recommendations for adding this story to the community, and my undying love to my betas: WuogKat and MaleficentKnits. As you might expect, Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer; no copyright infringement is intended. Everything else belongs to my overactive imagination.**

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14 April, 1862

About the same time Major Jasper Whitlock was meeting his riverboat in Robinsonville, there was another meeting about to occur just over one hundred miles to the east.

A man on horseback made his way up a tree-lined path toward a white, two-storied house with large columns and a wrap-around porch. As he passed the final oak tree a black man appeared, seeming from nowhere, to take the horse from the stranger as he came to tend to whatever business brought him to the manor. The rider brought brought his horse close to the man and dismounted, all the while staring at the slave. Carefully he pulled the reigns around front and handed them to the

"You c'n touch the leather, but don' touch my horse nigger!" the stranger spat at the slave before making his way up the steps.

"Might I have your name, sir, to introduce you to the Lady of the House?" asked another man as the stranger started up the main stairs to the porch.

"You can tell her it's Albert Baldwyn," he said condescendingly.

"Yessir," the slave said with a bow before heading into the plantation house.

Albert looked over what he could see of the estate as he waited impatiently on the porch to be introduced. His face was nothing to envy. Although he was not particularly marred or disfigured, his skin was already tanned from exposure to the sun and he was already forming wrinkles premature for his age perhaps from his constant scowling. In fact the only real identifying feature that he had was a thick drawl and still healing wound on his neck that would undoubtedly leave a permanent scar.

"Mr. Baldwyn," said a sugary sweet voice from behind him.

"May I present," said the house slave as Albert turned around, "Mrs. Elias Fields."

"Ma'am," Albert started, "I have reason to believe that you have had your good name sullied by a confidence trickster, and I am here hoping to set things right."

"Oh dear," exclaimed Mrs. Fields, putting her gloved right hand to her mouth.

"I know, and I do feel the shame of having to bring this news on the Lord's day, but this is an urgent errand."

"Pray tell, Mr. Baldwyn. Who was this deceiver?"

"Don't you realize, Ma'am?" Albert asked in feigned shock. "It is none other than the major you hosted only a few nights ago."

"Oh my," Mrs. Fields lost the sweetness in her voice. "I do believe that I need to sit before I hear anymore," she said moving across the porch to a rocking chair on the side. Albert followed her.

"Please forgive my forthrightness, Ma'am, but I shall be as direct as I can. The corporal you allowed Major Whitlock to bring into your fine home was a runaway from the war. I met him after he left here yesterday and made sure that he was returned to his proper unit. That is where I learned that the Major is also a fugitive who has fled from his duty and commission."

"But… but… he seemed so honorable," stammered a shaken Mrs. Fields. She was visibly affected by this revelation.

"I know, Ma'am. That is what has afforded him such an easy escape." Albert paused for a moment, waiting for the perfect time to make his final move. Only after Mrs. Fields released a deep sigh he knew that he had sold his lie. "Mrs. Fields, I need to know where he was going when he left here, and which roads he planned to use, if you perchance know."

"Oh certainly," she responded returning somewhat to her senses. "I know exactly where he went, because I recommended the route. He went due west to Robinsonville. It is right on the River, you see, so he could catch a riverboat."

"A riverboat?" he asked. "Where is he headed by river?

"South," she said nonchalantly. "The major was planning on making his way at least to New Orleans."

Deep down, Mrs. Fields refused to believe Baldwyn's story. Although she had no reason to refute him except for her own experience with and trust in Major Whitlock, she still did not feel the need to reveal all that she knew about Jasper's plans.

"I thank you, Mrs. Fields," Albert said tipping his hat. "Your help will get this charlatan back to his proper post."

Wasting no time, he turned and made his way off the porch, down the steps, and back to his horse.

"You didn' touch her, did you nigger?" he asked quietly as he took back the reigns of his horse.

"No sir," Benjamin grunted.

"You must be a good nigger who knows how to listen," again he spoke under his breath making sure that Mrs. Fields could not hear. "Why don' you teach all the other slaves how to do as they told?"

"Have a good evening, sir," Benjamin forced himself to say politely and grin, albeit meaninglessly.

"I am on my way to do that," Albert said while mounting his horse. He took one last look back at the manor, and saw Mrs. Fields still sitting in the rocking chair with the same shocked look upon her face. He smiled slightly knowing that his lie had worked.

Albert Baldwyn was a man on a mission. He had captured a runaway corporal before losing his bounty to Major Jasper Whitlock. He waited patiently and finally after three days the corporal was finally released by the doctor. Albert tracked the corporal after he departed from the Fields' Plantation and managed to recapture him and finally lay claim to the bounty.

Now his sights were set on the major and the greater bounty. However it was the fact that Whitlock had a four-day head start that made Albert hasten to start his journey that very afternoon. He looked up at the sun through the last remaining oak trees of the plantation's main road and realized that he still had a couple hours' worth of light remaining.

_I've got to get to Robinsonville_, he thought to himself_, before any leads on that damn major get cold._


	11. The Charon Uncovered

**As per usual, I must confess my undying appreciation for WuogKat and Maleficent Knits for their amazing beta abilities. As always, Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer , the Civil War belongs to history, Vicksburg belongs to Mississippi, and all the rest belongs to my overactive imagination. *****No copyright infringement intended.*****Thank you for reading and reviewing! **

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April 17, 1862

The past few days on the riverboat had shown Jasper just how uneventful but quick traveling by riverboat can be. It had taken him four days to travel approximately 120 miles. Yet this evening, after a mere three days of travel, they were to make port in Vicksburg, nearly 200 miles downriver as the crow flies.

The greatest challenge of the trip had been playing ignorant to the true identity of Elias Fields. Although Jasper had never met him before, he clearly recognized Elias from two portraits that he had seen in the Fields' home. His family was under the impression that he was serving in the Army of Mississippi. Instead, he was on this very same riverboat disguised as a preacher and traveling the river under the alias Wesley Williamson. To make the situation even more complicated for Jasper, it was the fake preacher's wife who had written the letter requesting Captain Brockwell to allow Major Whitlock passage to New Orleans. This connection created obvious concern between the captain and the preacher.

From his first night aboard the ship Captain Brockwell had invited Jasper to his cabin, shared a rich bottle of scotch, and casually spoke with him regarding his relationship with and knowledge of the Fields family. In all truth, Brockwell had tried hard to make it a casual conversation, but Jasper immediately sensed the captain's nervousness and quickly deduced, correctly, that this mini-inquisition was little more than an attempt to determine whether or not he knew Elias Fields.

Jasper maintained his ignorance of Mr. Fields and honestly confessed that he had never met the Lord of the Manor. The proverbial ace up his sleeve was the fact that Jasper had seen at least two portraits of Elias in the plantation house. One family portrait had hung over the mantle in the parlor, while there was another in the makeshift ballroom with the portraits of the Fields ancestors. Elias had been blessed with an unmistakably distinct and pointed nose that was easily recognizable.

Whether or not the captain believed Jasper's tale was not clear. What was clear, however, was that the captain did everything that he could to prevent the two men from meeting each other. In fact the preacher did not make any direct contact with Jasper, until breakfast at an inn on the third morning when the _preacher_ had approached him.

"I apologize for having been so distant," he had said, "but I have been focused on my work for the Lord."

"Pastor Williamson," Jasper responded as he stood to greet his guest. "I understand completely, I hope that you have found success in your efforts and solace."

"I believe I have. We must get to Vicksburg in a timely fashion. I have been preparing for what I hope will be a large revival tonight. We are hoping to bring many souls unto Christ. "

"Well I hope your harvest is as profitable as you anticipate, but I do not believe that I will be in attendance," Jasper replied.

"Might I inquire as to why you willingly choose to avoid such a spiritual experience?"

"If I may be so bold," Jasper offered, "it comes down to this; I am not much of a spiritual man. I care about everyone, but I have never been much of a godly person. I think I shall pass."

"Well that, sir, is simply unacceptable," the pastor protested. "You must come, as a guest if nothing else. Please consider it as a personal favor to me."

Jasper pondered for just a moment. His guest sounded quite genuine but Jasper truly wanted to avoid the revival. However, deep down, he was actually curious to know what Elias Fields was up to and why he would go through such effort to lie to his own family and ride the river.

"Since you ask in such a manner, how could I refuse?" Jasper answered. "I look forward to enjoying your sermon."

"As do I," the pastor replied warmly and fatherly. "I pray that you not only enjoy it, but that you will find eternal benefit in the experience."

"I'm sure that it will be quite an experience," Jasper said truthfully.

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The _Charon_ arrived in Vicksburg a little later than anticipated. As soon as the boat docked, the preacher hopped off onto the dock where he was met by a local pastor. The two men greeted each other and hurried off and up towards the city. Jasper, on the other hand, had a little time to kill before heading over to the revival. He was looking forward to looking around Vicksburg before the night's festivities.

The sun was setting in the west and a reddish glow was painted across the sky. Jasper looked towards it and saw the magnificent sunset over the cannons of one of the southern batteries. His heart ached thinking about the fact that these men were actively fulfilling their duty to country, while he was heading back to his home unit. It felt as though he were on some kind of vacation rather than on dispatch. Major Whitlock had to shake off these feelings in order to gain any sense of peace.

Turning back to the city, Jasper made his way into the heart of the town. In spite of the time of the day, Vicksburg, Mississippi was still abuzz with activity. There were carts shuffling through the main streets, people walking to their respective destinations and talking about what seemed to be both nothing yet everything. There were even some children who were out and about playing and yelling with reckless abandon in the late afternoon sun.

Most interesting to Jasper was the stark contrast from his experience in Robinsonville. Here in Vicksburg, civilians were used to seeing men in uniform as they maintained a constant presence in town. The city was nestled on a hill overlooking a bend in the Mississippi River and served as a strategic location in defense of the river. All river traffic had to come around the bend, which provided extended exposure to the cannon batteries situated along the river banks.

This constant presence made Major Whitlock fit in nicely. This inconspicuous anonymity was a welcome reprieve from the intense scrutiny that he had encountered over the past three days aboard the riverboat.

Just on the outskirts of Vicksburg, on the eastern side, stood a large, open-sided tent. This was perhaps the largest such tent that the major had ever seen firsthand although he would have likely seen them if he had indeed attended more revivals in his youth. Underneath the tent were no fewer than thirty rows of seats with an aisle down the middle. They were nothing more than planks balanced on logs for their support. It was a simple but effective substitution for traditional pews. Upon a rough estimate Jasper guessed that there were at least two hundred people seated waiting for the sermon to begin. There was ample seating for more than another hundred visitors, and it seemed that those seats would go quickly.

Lanterns were strategically placed throughout the tent as well as one on either side of the makeshift pulpit. At the very front of the tent were three chairs: Mr. Fields sat in the middle with Captain Brockwell on his left and the stranger who had met him at the dock on his right.

Jasper took a seat on a pew toward the back of the tent. He was only here out of morbid curiosity rather than religious interest. Soon enough, he had been surrounded by locals who were here to partake in the revival.

After a quarter of an hour the man on Field's right finally rose to speak to the audience.

"My brothers and sisters in Christ," he spoke with a slow, deep voice. "We are gathered tonight for a feast. Not for want of bread are we assembled, but to seek a renewal of the Spirit. There are those among us who have never tasted of the sweet fruits of the Holy Spirit, and tonight we shall feast on these words."

He paused as if to collect his words. "

]

["Tonight we are honored to have a soldier in our midst…"

A hand patted Jasper on the shoulder and a few nearby people turned to look at him and share a smile.

"…a brave and courageous soldier who has seen the battle but has not turned away." Jasper glanced around and realized that he was the only uniformed Confederate soldier in attendance. He was a little embarrassed at the attention that was being directed toward him.

"Indeed we are honored to have a man who has answered the battle call of the Almighty, and has come to speak to us tonight."

_Speak? _Jasper thought to himself. _What is there for me to say? What do I have worth hearing?_

"We have seen many soldiers here in Vicksburg, but this one is different. Instead of fighting a war against man, our guest is fighting a war against Satan himself!" The pastor turned to the fake preacher next to him and said, "I present my brother in Christ, The Reverend James Mason!"

The audience broke into applause; all except for Jasper. He was relieved to know that he was not being called upon to speak extemporaneously, but was confused when he saw Elias Fields stand up at the mention of the name of name _James Mason_. The two preachers shook hands and hugged before Mr. Fields stepped up to the pulpit.

"My brothers and sisters in Christ," he said loudly, but gently, "I am truly humbled by the introduction by your own Brother Joshua. I have spoken with him many times regarding the opportunity to speak with you and grant unto you the same peace of the Spirit that I have felt…."

The speaker continued, but Jasper was too busy trying to piece this mystery together. He had recognized Elias fields from the portraits in his own estate, but he had never been introduced to or met him as _Elias Fields_. Jasper had only officially known him only as _Wesley Williamson_.

"While I could continue most of the night regaling y'all with such anecdotes, sadly I cannot," the speaker said somberly. "The time is short… and the day of the Lord's second coming is NIGH!"

Jasper's thoughts were turned away from the initial mystery before him as he quickly became enraptured in the preacher's sermon. Not by the stories he told at the beginning, nor by the content. Instead, he was focusing on the pastor's oratorical ability; it was truly mesmerizing to listen to him speak. The last sentence he heard was clear enough, but Jasper noticed the gradual increase in volume from a normal voice until at the end he was shouting about the second coming.

"Satan is real and he is among us. Not so clearly that you can see, for his fiendish servants disguise themselves amongst us in manners most insidious and unpleasant."

The tone and cadence of these words set a somber and fearful start to the revival. However, regardless how serious the atmosphere had become, the audience was clearly listening with rapt attention to his every word.

"The sons and daughters of Satan fulfill his ghastly bidding and we even look right over them as they hide amongst us! What's worse is that there are those here tonight who are helping Satan by allowing these sinners to thrive in our midst!" he continued without missing a beat. He would hang on a word just long enough to emphasize its importance and speed through other sentences to keep the audience from focusing on the seemingly less important parts. Recognizing this made it much easier for Jasper to separate style from substance.

"Our culture adopts and glorifies these beasts of Hell. We have all heard tales of monsters and bogeymen. There are many tales we hear of ogres and ghosts and werewolves. A personal favorite is the story of a scientist who brings a body back to life. It is SACRILIDGE and EVIL to hear of man creating life! Only God can provide a soul…."He held onto that last word for a few seconds. "I am here tonight to tell you that there are no such things as goblins and banshees and vampires. They simply do not exist."

Jasper could not help but chuckle to himself at this. By consciously listening to the pastor's words and not their delivery he found this discussion of things like werewolves and vampires to be rather amusing.

"It is Satan's other weapon which you must fear. Indeed it is the only rumor in our culture today that we find listed in the Good Book itself: WITCHES!"

_From vampires to witches_, Jasper thought to himself, _at least this is going to be comical_.

At this point the speaker launched into a sermon of the various forms of witchcraft all the while intermingling warnings from scripture, each time from the Old Testament. He began with a discussion on communion with spirits. Jasper was a little surprised how quickly those in the tent were connecting with the sermon. Apparently there were many who had attempted to "commune with the spirits."

"Surely there are those who enjoin with these dark spirits by means of praying to the wrong god," he was saying in a sinister, singsong manner when someone tapped Jasper on his left arm. He looked down to see a hat with some coins and couple of dollars.

"What's this?" he asked the holding the hat next to him.

"Love offering," he whispered in reply, "it's for Mr. Mason."

Jasper had seen hats passed around for collections before, but never at a revival… mostly because he had never attended one before. He took the hat and whispered some excuse for not adding anything as he passed it along down the row.

Jasper watched with great interest. Almost everyone offered something as it passed, and when it got to the end of the row at the edge of the tent, a man he recognized as one of the roustabouts from the riverboat emptied most of the money out of the hat and into a leather pouch. He then started the hat down the row in front of Jasper's.

"The evils of witchcraft also include the abomination of seeking out the future!" Fields exclaimed to the audience, which was now becoming even more animated than before. "God only reveals the future to his prophets. But prophets are no more… not since he sent us a Savior in Jesus Christ. How many of you have sought out knowledge of the future? More than would admit it here… These are SOOTHSAYERS ye seek! And what does the Word of God have to say of soothsayers? In Joshua, we read…."

The pastor kept shifting his voice from speaking normally to shouting. He was moving from calm to powerful and back again. His tone was ebbing and flowing like the tides of the ocean set in a faster motion. His words were not so eloquent as the emotions they created, and it was visible among the reactions of the people. Here they were, letting the sermon cascade upon them like the waves of a flowing tide. They were hit hard by the shouts of emphasis, and soothed by the calmness offered by a voice as sweet as the wave rolling back into the sea. And just like beach goers, they sat eagerly waiting the next wave. Some were visibly affected by the dramatic oratory as a few started to sway and rock with the preacher's words. If only they understood that this was not a revival. Jasper wished that these people understood that they were not listening to a sermon, but to a performance.

That's when he finally realized what Fields and Brockwell were doing. It all made sense now. They were little more than confidence tricksters who were working together to profit off of the cities and towns up and down the Mississippi River. Fields had the opportunity to leave home with the excuse of fighting for the cause. Jasper remembered that Mrs. Fields had said that in all the letters Elias sent he never spoke of the war. This was because he was not fighting. Also the aliases made far more sense. If word got out that Elias Fields was working the river over, he would not be able to host any more revivals. By utilizing any number of aliases, he could feasibly work the entirety of the river before anyone really caught on to their game. The plan was absolutely brilliant and damn near flawless.

"… and so we see that witchcraft is a very real evil. It lies before so many of us. How many of YOU here tonight… have fallen into Satan's TRAP?" Fields pointed an accusing finger across the audience for dramatic effect. This was enhanced by the flawless delivery of his sermon. "And what is to become of you? God tells us in Exodus 22, 'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.'" Here Fields stopped with a dramatic pause for no less than ten seconds of silence. His words were sinking in to the audience.

"Now, I have shown that far too many of you have allowed witchcraft to exist, which makes you culpable; an ally of the King of Darkness," he preached somberly before raising his voice dramatically and he simultaneously raised his hands and his eyes upward as if pleading unto the Almighty for inspiration, "But God has said that you shall not suffer them to live! What then shall we do with each of you?"

Jasper hated to admit it, but even though he saw through Field's charade, he was quite interested to hear the logic that was coming. He could also sense that the collective emotions about him were engulfed in the sermon. If there were any others who doubted or did not believe in the sermon, he could not pick them out.

"We shall not suffer you to live in this life of sin, but there is hope! You… EACH of you… needs to be reborn in Christ. It is only through Christ that your old life of sin and witchcraft can be given up for a life of God," he shouted.

There were murmurs and claps and even some cheers from the audience at this pronouncement. Above the noise and commotion, at least one voice was heard shouting, "how do we do this?"

"A GREAT QUESTION!" Fields yelled in response. "How can you end your old sinful life and be reborn? You must accept the saving sacrifice of the Lord, but to do that you first need to confess your sins. It is only after you confess your sins that you can invite Christ into your heart to fill the void sin creates!"

What happened next is something that Jasper would not have anticipated, much less expected. People started to randomly shout out confessions in front of everyone as though they did not care about others finding out about their sins.

"I have been trusting in good luck charms since my son went off to war… I have been trusting in evil spirits and not God," one older woman shouted.

"Now that you have that sin out, you can let Christ in," Fields encouraged. Applause broke out, and others were encouraged.

"I have been partaking from the bottle, ev'n tho I promised my wife I done quit," blurted out another man above the din.

"Now let the Lord in, and you will be forgiven," Fields answered.

The shouts and confessions ranged across all kinds of sins and topics. Each time, regardless of the admission, the fake preacher congratulated them on the confessions and encouraged them toward salvation.

"I've rigged the scale in my store to make customers pay more while giving them less," one shopkeeper yelled.

"I can't stop gambling. I've lost more money than my wife knows," said a well-dressed man.

"Last year I took some of my neighbor's crop at night so I could sell it with mine," another man shouted.

This continued with regularity and no sooner had person man finished than another would shout. It also seemed that there was no confession that could affect the pastor or the crowd. Some admissions were followed with hugs or tears. The one brief moment that did seem to have an effect on everyone was when one old, poor farmer stood and shouted, "last week I had carnal relations with a goat." For a brief moment most of the heads present turned to look in the direction of the farmer when a voice a few rows in front of Jasper said in a normal voice, "brother, I don't think I'd've said that." A light, nervous laugh broke out, but the preacher stopped it.

"It's a serious sin," Elias said reverently. "But this is the start of your forgiveness if you allow Christ to save you."

Jasper was impressed that he had managed to turn the word 'save' into a two syllable word. It was about this time that Jasper resolved that he was tired of being a bystander, and on an absolute whim stood up and blurted, "I need forgiveness for I have been with a loose woman."

There were murmurs of acceptance from among the congregation.

"I took advantage of her willingness," Jasper continued as he bowed his head.

More murmurs.

"Three times…"

There were some gasps from women added in at this comment.

"...in one night."

Now some of the men gasped and huffed at their own shock. Overall, however, there were many around him who muttered words of forgiveness, but it was overshadowed by the words of the would-be preacher.

"War brings unspeakable evils and countless temptations, son," he said. "The fortunate part is that you are in the process of turning away from those sins."

However, Jasper was not done. Before anyone else had a chance to take the floor, he forced out, "is there any helping the poor young woman for she too is caught up in this sin we committed together?"

Almost everyone else in earshot got quiet immediately. This was an important question to them since so many had confessed something that involved other people.

"There is nothing that you can do personally, except to encourage her to follow the light that is now within you. Once you are converted, you must show her the way," Fields expounded.

"I will do that," Jasper responded calmly. "Alas, I cannot stand the thought of this hanging over dear Miss Kaywinnet."

Jasper sat back down. Fields stood there completely nonplussed. His silence was a result of his shock and anger, but he could not break this atmosphere that he had created. Jasper looked up at the preacher who was glaring back. The silence between them was deafening under the tent full of buzz, amens, and halleluiahs.

"I allowed a gypsy to read my palm and tell my future," a woman shouted from across the tent.

At first Fields did not respond. He was still trying to figure out how to react to Jasper's statement. Jasper could tell that he was far angrier than he allowed himself to show.

"I stole a pig off someone's farm to help feed my family," a man confessed somewhere near the front.

Fields finally brought himself back enough to get back into his routine and shouted something encouraging about forgiveness.

Jasper watched with interest for a few more minutes. The collection hat had managed to be passed again. This time Jasper didn't even bother making any excuses for not contributing. Every so often Fields would peek Jasper's way, which made Jasper feel quite uncomfortable for some inexplicable reason. He wasn't nervous about confronting the charlatan. Heck, Jasper somewhat relished the idea of calling him out for what he was. However, there was also the thought of the great disgrace that Mrs. Fields would have if she ever learned that her "dearest Elias" was anything less than honorable. For all of her kindness, Jasper decided that the best option was to slip away unnoticed.

He watched and when the attention was drawn to the front of the tent on the far side, and he quietly slipped outside. By the time he had made it a few feet away, he heard Pastor "James Mason" call forward anyone wanting to be saved that night. Although he had never attended a revival before, Jasper had heard tale enough to know that this always occurred at or near the end.

He stepped up his pace and hurried through town and down to the docks. He was glad to see that there were still a couple of other riverboats there. Jasper considered hisself lucky to find one that was departing that evening and bartered passage to New Orleans for him and his horse. In utmost haste he collected his items from the _Charon_ and transferred to the _Delta Queen_. He quickly made his way to his cabin, and lay down on his bed. He wondered to himself whether or not he had done the right thing.

Within the hour he heard the steam engine power back to life. Jasper got up and headed up to the deck for some fresh air. When he got there, he saw Brockwell and Fields speaking with each other on the dock. He debated as to whether or not he should say anything. However, it was Fields who saw Jasper.

"YOU SONOFABITCH!" He yelled. "I'm gonna get you for taking my daughter's honor!"

He roared at Jasper, and in the pale light of the lamps on the dock he could see how red Mr. Fields' face was. Brockwell was restraining Fields and muttering something that was probably along the lines of "don't make a scene."

"How do you know I actually did it?" Jasper responded.

Elias was silent and his face went pale. "Why would you lie about something like that?" he said as the _Delta Queen _floated away from the dock._  
_

"I'm not sure. Why would you lie to your family about serving in the War?" Jasper yelled back. "You could always ask Kaywinnet the next time you see her," he said with a smile.

Elias' anger was apparent, but he remained silent and Jasper watched the captain and the charlatan disappear into the darkness as his new riverboat meandered its way down the mighty Mississippi.

He pondered for a moment about the irony of a fake preacher trolling up and down the river aboard a vessel named _Charon_. It was the man in Robinsonville who had told him that Charon was the being who carried souls to the underworld. Now a boat with that same moniker was carrying a thief who stole in the name of God all while lying to everyone in his life except for the ship's captain.

"Well… he was right about that ship," Jasper muttered to no one thinking that it has an unsavory cast to match its unsavory namesake. "


	12. Unsporting

**First of all, I would like to thank all of you for your patience. Now that some major deadlines with work have passed, I will be posting much more frequently. I genuinely appreciate your comments and reviews. I am eternally grateful for my betas: WuogKat, MaleficentKnits, and LadyRip. They are awesome and better than I deserve. As for the legal stuff, Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer; no copyright infringement intended. Everything else belongs to my overactive imagination.**

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18 April 1862

The midmorning sun was already hotter than anticipated. The feeling was made far worse as it burned off the previous night's rain. This made a stifling humidity, and even though it was only in the mid-70s, Albert Baldwyn was already sweating as he came into Robinsonville. Unlike the uniformed Major Whitlock a few days before him, there was nothing about Baldwyn that made him stand out or get noticed as he came into town. He was simply another transient passing through.

Baldwyn found his way down to the pier as easily as Jasper had. The township was organized in a way that seemed to funnel all traffic that way. There were no riverboats docked when he arrived, but two dockhands were loitering on the pier. This was for the best as it allowed the loaders to give Baldwyn the attention he thought he deserved.

"The officer that came through here a few days ago," Baldwyn ordered as he rode his horse right onto the dock. "Where'd he go?"

"'Scuse me," a worker said more than asking.

"Do not insult me by proving your ignorance. How many majors in uniform you got coming through here?" Baldwyn's condescension truly knew no depth. "What vessel did he board?"

"What vessel?" the man responded as he took a few steps toward Baldwyn. "I cou'n't tell you that any more than I could be president."

Taking no guff from a mere dockhand, Baldwyn suddenly swung his leg out, kicking the man on the shoulder. "I ain't got no time for disrespect! Where'd he go!"

"Hey!" shouted the other hand, who was watching the scene unfold.

"Don' know!" the man yelled, recoiling. "Don' know who or what you want."

"The Major left in a hurry," yelled the second dockhand. "I don' know where, but he spent a couple hours up at the Inn."

Baldwyn sat upright in the saddle and replaced his sneer with a slight smile. He put on a false, polite voice and spoke to the man who he had kicked. "See how easy that was? I do not enjoy doing things the hard way. It's much better to follow your mate's fine example."

As the two men looked at the stranger on his horse, Baldwyn winked at them, tipped his hat, and clicked to his horse. Without delay he worked his way immediately to the same inn where Jasper had been just four days prior. He hitched his horse to the post and went inside. As soon as he entered, he scanned the room, but unlike Jasper, he was looking at faces rather the situation or setting. His singular goal was to learn where Major Whitlock had gone and on which boat. Unfortunately, Baldwyn had one problem that he never realized he had; he didn't know what he was looking for. What he did see was a sparsely filled room and no one that he imagined could help him.

Albert Baldwyn was not a man of many talents. He was crude, abrasive, and had a short fuse. However, what was so unique about him was that he was exceptional at reading people. If he had reason to believe that a relationship or contact would prove beneficial, then he could be one of the warmest and most appealing people. However, if he believed that he could manipulate or control a person, then Albert became condescending and abusive. It was this unique ability that led him to exhibit stark mood shifts.

"Service!" he shouted as he seated himself at a table.

Within moments, a waiter popped out from behind a set of swinging doors and zigzagged his way among the tables over to Baldwyn.

"Yes, sir?"

"Sorry for being so loud," Baldwyn started. "I just needed some information about a patron you had earlier this week. Specifically, I am thinking of a Confederate major who came through here the other day."

"Surely 'nough," he said fondly. "E't a meal and played some poker but skipped out on the room."

"So he left town four days ago?" Baldwyn asked urgently.

"I 'spect so, but I don' really know his story. Was just another passerby… that's all."

Baldwyn leaned forward, as if to impress his sincerity. "I need to know whatever I can about his whereabouts. That major is a fugitive, having run away from his command in combat. I am charged with tracking him down and returning him either to his post or to justice." He spoke calmly and with great charisma. "Now, how can I go about learning a little more about his direction?"

"Not really sure," the waiter replied slowly. "Perhaps them gentlemen he played poker with could help.

"Are they still in town?" he asked urgently.

"O' course," the waiter said cheerfully. "They locals, who come in near 'bout every day gamblin' away their lunch breaks." He hummed a little to himself as he gazed off at the grandfather clock in the corner. "I guess they'll be in… in about another hour or so."

"Well, now, that was mighty helpful," Baldwyn said rather cheerfully. "I guess I'll have a beer while I wait."

The waiter nodded his acknowledgement and made his way off to fetch the order.

The guard sat there nursing his drink as he patiently waited. After nearly an hour and a half, he finally saw a few men in the far corner circle up and shuffle some cards. Having waited so long, Baldwyn had no problem waiting a little longer to observe them; he wanted to see who he felt that he could manipulate most easily out of the trio of poker players. All three of them were well-dressed, but their body language indicated that the man whose face seemed to meld into his throat as though he had no chin was the alpha dog among this small pack of friends.

Albert stood and worked his way over to the corner table, keeping his eyes on the leader of the table.

"I'll see that," said a man with a squeaky voice, throwing a couple of coins onto the pile in the center of the table.

"Hmph," said the chinless man. "No raise? You're playing it too safely again, Robert… I'll see and raise."

The third man grunted before tossing some coins on to match the bet. They sat there in silence for a moment, waiting on Robert to make a decision.

"If you care to join for a hand, we'd be obliged to invite you once this hand is done," said the chinless man without looking up at Baldwyn. "However, 'tis not polite to stare."

"My apologies, gentlemen," he responded, "but I did not want to disturb your game."

"Oh, it's close enough to over," Robert said as he finally matched the last bet. "Call."

The men revealed their cards in turn, and the third man won the hand.

"Congratulations, sir," Baldwyn said. "May I?" he asked as he pulled out a chair.

"Certainly," said the winner of the last hand. "We play hold 'em with a fifty cent ante."

"Tempting though it may be, I am not here for poker," he answered looking at the chinless man. "Gentlemen, I am here looking for some information on the whereabouts of a Confederate major who came through here a few days ago."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence among them which was only broken by the sound of a riverboat's whistle coming from somewhere in the distance. They exchanged glances before the man with the squeaky voice piped up, "All we did was play a hand with him, and he was gone. A hand that I lost, I might add."

"Now, I am fairly sure that you know a little more than that," he said, still looking to the leader of the group who finally spoke up.

"Surely I do know more than that, but I am not so inclined to divulge that without knowing with whom I am speaking."

"Albert Baldwyn," he said, feeling his pressure rising. "I'm with the Mississippi Home Guard. Major Whitlock abandoned his position, and I am to return this bandit to his unit."

"Mr. Baldwyn, that is a wonderful story," said the chinless man, "and I would be remiss not to assist you."

"I thank you, Mister…?"

"Andrew Cain," he answered. "Now, Mr. Baldwyn, I would be more than happy to assist, if only your story were true."

"You dare accuse my honor?" He raised his voice.

"It is most unfortunate that I must," Cain answered nonchalantly. "I had a good conversation with him, and as much as I regret having to make such a decision, I put far more stock in his story than yours."

Baldwyn could feel his anger brewing quickly, and he knew that he had to control this man. "Whether or not you put faith or trust in me or him is not at issue. What _is _at play, however, is whether or not you obstruct a member of the Home Guard in performing his duty."

"You are correct," Cain said matter-of-factly. "And please know that I would not obstruct your effort in restoring a coward to his post. It is, therefore, most unfortunate that I cannot remember any details of my conversation with him."

Baldwyn smiled at this and let out little laugh. Cain's confidence emanated from him. Because of this, others looked up to and respected him. This very trait is what made it so remarkable that Cain would take an immediate shining to Jasper and come to admire him in the short time they had spent in conversation. That was why he wanted to protect Jasper from this guardsman.

"Well, I know that these things happen," Baldwyn said as he looked around at the three men, nodding and chuckling to each before adding, "and it is, therefore, most unfortunate that I must do this…"

Moving faster than any of the men expected, Baldwyn flung a closed fist, backhanding the man with the squeaky voice as he kicked the chair opposite him, knocking it over backwards. Then he grabbed Andrew by the collar of his coat and yanked him downward so hard his face hit the table.

"I tried to be respectful. I tried to use words, but you didn't want to do things as gentlemen," Baldwyn seethed. "Now do you remember anything?"

Andrew was still in a state of shock from the assault that he could not answer. Talking would have been difficult anyway as he could feel blood pooling in his mouth and nose from hitting the table. The delay was more than Baldwyn had hoped for, and he put his hand on the back of Andrew's head and started pushing down… hard. Andrew was in pain beyond anything that he could imagine, but there was only one way to make it stop.

"_Charon_," he tried to say.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cain, I couldn't hear you very well," Baldwyn said, releasing Andrew's head.

Andrew picked up his head slightly, spat blood onto the table, and repeated, "Riverboat _Charon_. He headed south on the _Charon_."

"Now, was that so hard?" Baldwyn teased as he stood up and straightened his own coat. He picked up a handful from the small pile of money from the center of the table. "Have a good day, gentlemen."

He turned away from the table and saw the gaggle of diners all staring in his direction. Albert Baldwyn ignored them as he made his way toward the door. Catching the waiter's eye, he dropped a dollar from the stolen poker winnings on his table next to his empty glass. He left the inn, unhitched his horse, and made straight for the dock. He remembered hearing a whistle earlier and knew that the dock was empty when he came into town and anticipated that the boat would be sailing soon.

"Heading south?" he shouted to a roustabout preparing the boat for departure.

"Aye."

"I need passage for one plus horse," he ordered.

"Aye," the roustabout moaned as he turned to shout, "Cap'n Cone… we got a passenger!"

Within minutes, Albert Baldwyn was aboard _Meriwether's Dream_ and heading downstream. He knew that Whitlock was headed for New Orleans, and now he knew the name of the boat that the Major was on. The worst part was that he had confirmed Whitlock departed from Robinsonville four days previously. That was the same head start that he had from the Fields' Plantation. Baldwyn was comforted a little bit knowing that he hadn't lost any ground, but he was desperate to close the gap. He was desperate for his reward, and he was desperate for his revenge.


	13. Reporting for Duty

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews; they really help keep me motivated. Much love to MaleficentKnits for invaluable beta work. As always, the legal stuff is that I do not own anything associated with Jasper Whitlock. He belongs to S. Meyer. General Hebert belongs to history, and the rest is purely figments of my imagination... including the hotel. My apologies to anyone from Texas who may be reading. I have only been to Galveston once, and that was years ago. ****I really am trying to be historically accurate on this. ****I am basing my geography in the story off of various historical documents, including a map from 1871.**

* * *

24 April 1862

Major Jasper Whitlock entered the Gulf Star Hotel. It was a magnificent, three-story building that had donated the use of the second floor to the Confederate leadership for offices and barracks for senior officers. He made his way through to the grand staircase and quickly ascended the few steps to the second floor. He was out of place in these surroundings. Although in proper uniform, everything here was clean and pristine. Jasper, however, was road weary and in dire need of a good bathing. In spite of this appearance, his first priority was to report to his commanding officer. At the top of the stairs, he turned right and headed down the hall toward the room that was supposed to be General Paul O. Hebert's new office. He found the door and entered without knocking.

"The General's schedule is full for the rest of this week," a man explained without looking up from his paperwork. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to return on Monday when we can schedule appropriate arrangements."

The major shut the door and cleared his throat.

"Sir!" exclaimed the startled sergeant. He fumbled up to his feet and snapped a salute as he stood at attention. This was a different sergeant than the one who served Hebert before Jasper had left for Tennessee.

"Is General Hebert in his office?" Jasper asked as he returned the salute.

"Um…" he started, "As I stated, sir, General Hebert is not available until after this weekend."

"That's good to know, but that is not what I asked. Is the general in?" Jasper repeated rather cordially.

The sergeant was conflicted. Although he knew his responsibility lay with the higher order given to him from the general, he felt that the major carried a certain importance and, surprisingly, he felt comfortable disobeying this order for him.

"Yes sir, he is in. But…," he hesitated, "with all due respect Major, he left specific instruction not to be disturbed."

"I understand, Sergeant," Jasper said with a slight smile as he walked across the ante-office. "Rest assured you shall not be held accountable."

Without knocking Jasper opened the door to the general's personal office. Hebert was not at his desk on the left as he entered. Instead he was standing at a table across the room in front of a large window overlooking Pelican Island and Galveston Bay. He did not react to the opening door, but stood stoically staring down at something like a student at university.

"Major Jasper Whitlock returning and reporting for duty," he said snapping to attention and saluting the general from behind.

The general spun on his foot, turning to face the major. Before he spoke, Jasper saw his face brighten slightly as one does when seeing an old friend. A thin smile spread across his face.

"Whitlock," he said in his telltale Louisiana accent, coming across to shake Jasper's hand. "I didn't expect you for another week. You didn't kill Tex trying to make it here so quickly did you?"

"No sir," Jasper chuckled. "Fortune smiled upon my travels."

"Please sit," he said pointing Jasper to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "I have many questions, but none so important as this: how did you make it here so quickly?"

They walked together toward the desk. Jasper was surprised to see that Hebert sat in the chair next to him instead of at his desk proper. Indeed, he considered this to be quite a compliment.

"To be honest, I didn't know that you were expecting me," Jasper said a little surprised.

"I received a telegram a few days ago. Pierre said that your service as his adjutant was complete, and that you were returning."

"Well, to speak freely sir, it was quite an adventure. Tex and I traveled across Mississippi to catch a riverboat…"

"That's precisely what I need to know," Hebert interrupted. "How far downstream were you able to come?"

"Baton Rouge," Jasper answered matter-of-factly. "I don't know what happened, but everything was stopping there. I departed and caught a train from there into Houston. I heard scuttlebutt* amongst the roustabouts. I heard everything from Union boats on the Mississippi to New Orleans having been conquered."

"That's not too far from the truth. What is going on," Hebert began, "is a Union assault on Nawleans . They are expanding their blockade and attempting to take control of the Mississippi. It'll be hell if they take the river 'cause the western front will crumble if we cannot hold. Nawleans is vital to us here… but it's also our curse."

"How's that, sir?" Jasper asked.

"I've been pouring over these maps since I got the news," he stood up and led Jasper over to the table where he was earlier. Maps of the gulf coast were spread over the table like linen. There was a large map of the states of the Confederacy, but with a particular focus on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean. This was surrounded by more detailed maps of each state's coastline.

"The Yankees want to crush our economy, so they are trying to control the water," Hebert explained. "So far they have effectively blockaded Nawleans, Charleston, and Savannah." He pointed to each location on the map as if to show the full picture. "The Virginia peninsula has shifted hands so much there is no solid control for either side… which makes it unreliable for anything."

"Well what do we control?" Jasper asked.

"Control?" the general almost laughed. "We don' seem to control anything. So far, we've had some success with blockade runners** in Nor' Carolina's Outer Banks." Hebert stood up and looked at Jasper as if to impress the importance of this next sentence upon him. "On the other hand, we've had some very good success getting to and from Cuba. Our blockade runners been headin' due south and slip right past Union ships. And so far, they've largely ignored us here in Galveston as they've focused on Louisiana."

Hebert looked back down to at the maps and pointed out parts of the gulf coast to Jasper. "But the way I see it, Billy Yank has only two choices. Firstly, if they take the river," he said dragging his hand up the Mississippi on the map so as to make a wall between the two sides of the river, "we are irrelevant. Any supplies that we bring in past the blockade will be useless. We'd live well moving anything we want around Texas and Louisiana, but wouldn't be able to get anything across the river.

"On the other hand, if we can hold them at any substantial point," he looked over the map pondering various options, "I suspect if we can hold them south of Baton Rouge they will focus on us here in Galveston."

"So New Orleans is the key…" Jasper said more than he asked.

"That is the way I see it," Hebert answered. "If the Crescent City falls, we will be squarely in their sights."

Hebert stopped talking, but released a long sigh. Jasper could sense his worry and frustration.

"But look at me," Hebert piped up and standing up straight. "Staring at this map will change nothing. We must pray for divine providence to be upon our boys in the delta." Then instantly he changed his demeanor as he turned and shouted toward the door, "McAdams!"

Within seconds the sergeant from the first room entered.

"Arrange accommodations for Major Whitlock. I would like him on this floor."

"Yes sir," McAdams said, snapping a salute and exiting to fulfill his orders.

Then, turning back to Jasper, the general smiled and pointed to his desk, "Tis good to have you back."

"Thank you sir," Jasper said following him back toward the chairs. "It should please you to know that Baton Rouge is still safely in Confederate control.

"It does please me, but I would welcome a reprieve from that topic. Please, tell me of your journey."

Jasper began to recount his journey, without embellishment but full of detail of his various adventures. He focused a little more on his interactions with home guard members. While Hebert was familiar with the home guard in principle, the details of their actions was nothing shy of news to him. Jasper did tell of the Fields' Plantation, but he specifically overlooked the part about staying an extra night for the ball lest he be reprimanded for dawdling on his return. Jasper also relished in telling how he had managed to arrange passage on a train from Baton Rouge to Houston. The combination of the riverboats and the train saved an immense amount of time, for which Hebert was clearly grateful. They continued to chat with each other about various and sundry topics for no less than a quarter hour before Hebert drew their conversation to a close.

"Well, Major," he said, "I am sure that you are longing for some rest and a chance to prepare for officially reporting for duty."

"I have reported, sir," Jasper replied somewhat surprised.

"Not as far as I am concerned," he winked at Jasper before standing up. "However, I _do _expect to see you first thing Monday morning."

"Yessir," Jasper answered. "If, however, you should need my services before then, do not hesitate to call upon me."

"Well. Now that you mention it," the general said in a devilish tone of voice, "there may be something for you to do this weekend… unofficially, of course."

Jasper stopped and turned back to the general.

"Last month Texas celebrated her first year of independence from the oppression of Washington DC," Hebert explained with almost longing in his voice. "And so we celebrated in such a grand fashion that even I was impressed. We have since decided that, for the morale of our army, we will host an event each month of our freedom until this war is finally over."

"What kind of event is this to be," Jasper asked.

"Saturday night we shall host a dance and social in the grand ballroom downstairs."

"I look forward to it, sir," Jasper said. Smiling he turned back to the door, but before he could open it Hebert spoke up again.

"I do believe it is most appropriate I tell you," he hesitated. "_She_ will be there."

Jasper did not turn around. He stood there with his hand on the doorknob letting this news sink in. He felt his stomach churn as though he had just been hit. Desperate to change the subject, Jasper remembered something he needed to do. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a dog-eared envelope, turned around and handed it to the general.

"Lest I forget, sir," Jasper said, "this is a personal dispatch from General Beauregard."

He handed the letter to Hebert, offered a final salute, and forced his way out of the room.

The sergeant had completed his orders and returned to his desk before Jasper and the general had completed their discussion, and he volunteered to escort Jasper to his room. They exited the office and took a left heading down the hallway. McAdams took this time to offer some suggestions regarding their standard operations here for the Texas Second Infantry. By the time they had made it to the grand staircase Jasper wanted to tell the sergeant that had only been gone a few months and was not new to this Army or the hotel. However, he knew that McAdams would be embarrassed and possibly offended. In this case, Jasper's compassion outweighed his desire not to hear what he already knew. Instead, he decided to utilize a little of the sergeant's _expertise_.

"McAdams," Jasper called as the sergeant was leaving. "I would be much obliged if you would recommend a good stable for my horse."

"Of course, Sir," he responded immediately. "If, however, you would prefer I would be happy to make said arrangements for you."

"I thank you," Jasper said with a slight nod and entered his room. At this point, he wanted little more than to lay down for a night's sleep in a proper, feather bed for the first time since those nights at the Fields' Plantation. Although little more than a few weeks, it already seemed like a lifetime ago. Unfortunately for him, each time he closed his eyes, he saw her face. Jasper had pushed her out of his mind. He had not given her so much as a though in the months since he left, and now he was about 48 hours away from seeing Constance again.

Jasper needed a distraction; anything to get his mind off of this. He got up and took his few personal possessions from his saddle bags and settled into his room. It was larger than the quarters he had been assigned in the past, and it was far nicer. The room had a decent sized bed with a side table and a small desk. However, what was most appealing to him was the ewer*** and wash basin in his room. This meant that he could take care of most of washing up and shaving needs in private.

However, this gave him the inspiration for what he truly needed for at the moment: a decent bath. He knew there was public bath near the hotel and, if time permitted, he would get a shave and a haircut. _If I have to see Connie again, _he thoughtto himself, _I should at least make myself presentable. _This though made him feel reinvigorated.

Jasper retrieved his money pouch, walked out of the hotel, and stepped into the early evening of Galveston. For the first time all day he had a chance to relax. He stood there for a moment on Strand Street. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He could smell the salt in the air and he heard the gulls above over the din of the public's bustle about the city and the ships in the harbor.

"It may be Galveston," he said to no one. "But it's close enough to home."

* * *

*Scuttlebutt – This is a naval slang term for rumors. It has a similar connotation as the modern "water cooler" conversation. Before anyone complains about time and usage, this term was in casual use as early as 1805.

**Blockade runner – Small fast ships designed to outrun warships. They were typically used to import weapons and supplies or export cotton.

***A wide-mouthed pitcher. In this time, ewers were designed to be filled easily and were commonly used to carry water into a bedroom to fill a basin for sponge bathing or shaving as necessary. In a hotel such as this, the ewers and basins were likely a matching, porcelain set.


	14. Comeuppance

**A/N: After much drama in life, I am finally writing on a regular basis again. This is four chapters in 2 months. Not only do I hope this keeps my faithful happy, but I hope to continue this pace. As always, I must express my love and appreciation for my two wonderful betas: Wuogkat and Maleficentknits. They are both wise and beautiful. As for the legal stuff, Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. Everything else in this chapter belongs to me and geography.**

* * *

25 April 1862

"I swear, I'm beginning to believe that this _Charon_ is little more than a damn ghost ship," Albert Baldwyn complained to the bartender. "Everywhere I've been, it seems that I've either just missed it, or they've never heard of it."

"Well, that's the way it goes," said the bartender as he bussed a couple empty glasses.

Albert Baldwyn was angry and frustrated, and was taking a short break to enjoy a beer or two. It had been a week since he left Robinsonville in his quest for Major Jasper Whitlock. In that time, he had traveled the Mississippi desperately seeking the riverboat _Charon_, but had no success. Due to the vast number of riverboats floating up and down the Mississippi River, they did not stop at every town. Baldwyn's problem was that he did not know which towns the _Charon_ frequented. This meant that Baldwyn was making exceptionally slow time.

A week out of Robinsonville, Baldwyn had hoped to be close to Baton Rouge or New Orleans by this time; that is if he hadn't caught up to Whitlock. As it was, he found himself stopping in every city, township, and backwater borough that had a dock. Instead, he was only in Vicksburg and was genuinely running out of time since his ship was going to depart soon.

"And if I don't find it soon, I may lose his trail for good," Baldwyn added.

"Well, I do wish you success," the bartender said with a sigh, "I wish I could bear news of greater import, but nearly everything that floats stops here. I couldn't begin to guess when it came through or where it was going."

"What is it that you seek?" asked an older man who was sitting near them at the bar.

"I'm looking for a riverboat called the _Charon_, but I can't seem to catch up to her," Baldwyn sighed.

"What's so important with that one?" he further inquired.

"Tell him," the bartender encouraged. "I'd like to hear it again myself."

The bartender had heard many stories over the years, but this story of a runaway officer truly caught his attention. It was as unique as it was startling: how could an officer abandon his duty? Baldwyn recounted his well-rehearsed story of a major who fled in the heat of combat during a Confederate pummeling at Shiloh and how it was his personal responsibility of finding and capturing this pitiful excuse of an officer.

"So now," Baldwyn concluded, "here I am desperately seeking the last trail I have for him.

"This is nearly unbelievable," said the stranger.

"No," Baldwyn spat back, "the _real_ unbelievable part is how some people are trying to stop me from accomplishing this singular task…," He paused, almost too embarrassed to say it. "I have had some intentional obstruction. Sabotage, so to speak."

"Pray tell," said the bartender, "who would be so bold as to hinder your assignment?"

"As it so happens," Baldwyn began, "there was another riverboat whose captain left me at port up in Greenville."

"What? That's it?" laughed the stranger. "Hell, are you sure you weren't late?"

"Hell no!" Baldwyn could feel himself getting quite angry at such an implication. "He left early! And I was fortunate to find another boat heading south so quickly."

"Listen, I spent years as a bosun," the stranger said, "and there ain't nothin' to a boat leavin' a few minutes early. Might have just miscounted passengers."

"He left my damn horse on the dock!" Baldwyn raised his voice, embarrassed and feeling as though he had been forced to admit a dark secret.

The two men laughed, making his embarrassment even worse, which effectively only made him angrier.

"There's simply no way it was an accident… he tethered the damn thing to the dock. My saddle and bag from my cabin were just dropped beside it."

Rather than easing the pangs of humiliation, this further detail only made the bartender and bosun laugh even louder.

"Well gahdammit!" Baldwyn shouted as he stood up, "my boat's leavin' soon enough anyway."

"Yeah, make sure you don't get left again," the stranger spat out in between guffaws, which made the bartender snort even louder as well.

Baldwyn could not contain himself any longer. He grabbed his almost empty glass threw it directly at the bartender, who managed to turn his head, but not completely shield his face. The glass shattered with a cloud of beer mixed with a little bit of blood. He then turned on the stranger, "did you get the message or should I repeat myself?"

The old man slipped off his barstool, cowering but he kept his feet.

Baldwyn then added, with a hiss, "I just wish President Davis would conscript the riverboats into the navy so I'd authority to take action against such unpatriotic and unhelpful _captains_. But I'd gladly settle for permission to handle_ people like you_."

Baldwyn turned, left the bar, and stormed out of the inn. This four-hour stop in Vicksburg had been a complete waste of time and, even though he was not willing to admit it, the conversation that he had just concluded had gotten into his head. Although he did not need to return to the riverboat for another half hour, Baldwyn was now rather paranoid about the concept of being left behind again. This made him hurry back through town faster than he would have liked to. As he reached the edge of town, he looked down the hill to the river and was quite relieved to see the riverboat still at dock.

Baldwyn considered himself fortunate to have landed himself on a much nicer riverboat than before. Departing from Robinsonville, Baldwyn was aboard _Meriweather's Dream_, which was a very functional but uncomfortable riverboat. Like many of the riverboats, it had a large cargo area with some cabins on the uppermost deck along with the bridge. He left that ship after being abandoned over one hundred miles upriver.

In his haste, Baldwyn took passage on the next boat that he found. It just happened to be the pleasure boat _Belle of the Ball_. This ship was a side-wheeler, five levels complete with ballroom, restaurant, and many rooms, from basic beds to plush suites. There were multiple bands that would play at various times. Everything about this boat was designed for entertainment. The distractions were more of a nuisance than anything else to Baldwyn, but he did rather enjoy the accommodations.

Once he finally got to the boat, Baldwyn went straight to bar on the second deck, ordered a double gin, and made his way to the balcony adjacent to the bar on the forward side of the boat. He sat down to await departure. He wasn't sure where he was going to go next. He had spent four hours hitting every possible trail he might follow in Vicksburg, yet Baldwyn was no closer to finding the riverboat or the major than when he had arrived.

As he sat there pondering, something caught his eye that he found surprisingly interesting. There was a large spider at the top of the balcony spinning a web between a balcony post and the eave of the balcony above him. He wasn't sure why this was so mesmerizing, but he could not seem to divert his attention from this show. Except for the occasional sip of his gin, Baldwyn's undivided attention was focused so on the spider's efforts that he did not even notice the _Belle's_ departure.

"Is there something particularly interesting up there?" a man asked.

"Hmm?" Baldwyn grunted as he was pulled back to reality. He turned around to see a rather modestly dressed gentleman standing beside him. He was carrying a wide-brimmed straw hat, which seemed to match his plain clothes, which included a longer than normal suit coat and a long black ribbon knotted so as to fashion a limp bowtie.

"You appear to be struck in fairly rapt attention," said the stranger. "I was just wondering what might cause one to be so pensive."

"Oh," Baldwyn muttered as if this conversation was an imposition on his time. "I was just thinking about that spider up there," he said pointing to the still-forming web.

"All of God's creations are quite a sight at which to marvel," the stranger said before taking the liberty of sitting in the deck chair next to Baldwyn.

"Good gawd, you ain't some kind of preacher are you?"

"As it so happens," the man chuckled, "I am. Pastor Richard Dawes," he introduced himself, offering his hand to the guard.

"Albert Baldwyn," he introduced himself matter of factly. "I don't mind you sittin' there, but I will if you get preachy on me. God ain't exactly been a friend o' mine."

"I am sworn to preach to all the children of our Heavenly Father, but I shall spare a sermon in exchange for some good company," Dawes said so cheerfully it may well have annoyed Baldwyn even more than preaching would have. "I do wonder, however, what it is that you find so intriguing about a simple wood spider."

"It's not so much this wood spider, but spiders in general," Baldwyn started. "I marvel at their method. They create a web of silk, then sit patiently and wait for their prey to come to them. Spiders are incredible hunters and it is all about patience and strategy rather than tracking and chasing."

"You sound like a man on a mission. Are you setting a trap for someone, or are you attempting to concoct an entirely new strategy for this war?"

"Neither actually," Baldwyn sighed. "I think I'm a little jealous of spiders right now. I am hunting, but I am tracking rather than trapping."

This statement brought natural questions from Dawes, which led Baldwyn into his story… again. He started with how Whitlock had evaded him on the backroads of northern Mississippi and sought cover in the manor house of a respected Planter family. Then slipping away to the Mississippi River headed to an unknown destination south bound. Over the past week, he had told the story so many times that he was tiring of hearing it, but it did serve one important purpose that even he did not recognize. The more he told of the rogue major and his dereliction of duty, the more the lie became truth in Baldwyn's eyes, twisting his mind and solidifying the legend over reality. In fact, he had become so good at telling this tale that Pastor Dawes was genuinely moved by Baldwyn's diligence and personal disappointment and distain for Major Whitlock.

"It is disappointing to hear that quests such as yours are necessary," Dawes breathed. "I fear for the safety of our nation if we cannot even trust our officers to keep the faith."

"Tis a sad state of affairs," Baldwyn answered. "Yet making matters worse is that I cannot seem to find his vessel of choice. This past week has been fruitless."

"Alas, the paths before you are likely too many to travel alone," Dawes said. "I truly do wish that there was some way I could assist you in this venture."

"Not unless by some happenstance you know where the riverboat _Charon_ is."

"Did you say _Karen _or was that _Charon_?" Dawes annunciated as clearly as possible.

"_Cha-ron_," Baldwyn said slowly before spelling it out, "C-h-a-r-o-n."

Dawes beamed brightly as a smile spread across his face. "I do believe that divine providence has crossed our paths so as to smile upon your journey."

Baldwyn sat up and stared directly at the pastor, who now had his full attention.

"The _Charon_ will be in St. Joseph, Louisiana tonight," Dawes said, still beaming proudly.

"How do you know? How can you be sure?" Baldwyn was asking question so quickly that he was stumbling over his own words.

"Word has spread the length of this river of the preachers that are traveling aboard that ship. They have been spreading the word of God with particular vigor and success," Dawes happily explained. "That ship is scheduled to berth in St. Joseph tonight for a twilight service this evening. I, for one, am particularly excited to hear what they have to say, and since I do not currently have a church home, join their preaching of the Word."

"This is tonight?" Baldwyn nearly shouted in his excitement. "How far is this? How will we get there on time?"

"St. Joseph is no more than forty miles downriver… we should arrive in a couple of hours."

"… and we will dock?" Baldwyn interrupted.

"Certainly," Dawes was truly sharing in the excitement now. "I confirmed with the first mate before taking passage."

Baldwyn swigged the remaining gin in one gulp as he stood up from his chair. "Sir, I cannot begin to tell you of the great service you have performed for me and the Confederate cause."

Without any further words, much less a farewell, Baldwyn made his through the bar and restaurant to the stairs and climbed up to the top deck where he gathered his few possessions and prepared to depart at the next stop. He was so excited that he even took the time to track down the clerk and arrange to pay for his passage before getting off or simply disappearing in a town without paying, which was his original plan.

He whiled away his remaining time playing out various scenarios in his head of what he would do once he finally caught Major Whitlock. As much as he hated to admit, however, he knew that in all likelihood Whitlock was no longer aboard the ship. That would not be a problem, as he was prepared to use any means to extract information regarding his whereabouts.

By the time the _Belle of the Ball_ arrived in St. Joseph, Albert was ready to depart and had even forced other passengers to deal with his horse getting off immediately. He was pleased to see that the _Charon_ was already docked, but it was also clear that it had been there for a while and the majority of the crew had departed.

"I do believe we will make it to the revival," Dawes said, "but we should hurry."

Baldwyn had been so focused on the ship that he paid no attention to the time or the sun. Daylight was waning as the setting sun worked its way westward. He didn't even realize that the pastor had intended to join him while here in St. Joseph.

"Should we find someone who can guide us to revival?" Dawes asked with a sense of haste.

"Nonsense," Baldwyn answered. "I've seen enough of these tiny towns… we will find it soon enough."

The guard had reason to believe that they would find the revival soon enough, but he had no way of knowing just how quickly it would be. The dock was right on the edge of town, which was flat and butted up right next to the river. There were two main streets in town, one parallel to the river and one perpendicular.

"That's where we need to go," Baldwyn said as he started toward the plank road heading away from the river. Within a few blocks they arrived at a town square, where a tent had been erected with easily movable log benches underneath.

"Wow," Dawes said to no one. "There is enough seating for no less than three hundred! Do you think they expect half of the parish to attend?"

"I have no need for half or even the whole parish. I just need one man." Baldwyn said menacingly. "Perhaps it is best if you wait here."

As he looked around the slowly gathering crowd, there was no sign of any confederate soldiers and certainly no officers. It was clear that the beginning of this event was soon, but not so close that he couldn't track down the preacher. Baldwyn headed to the back of the tent with his horse in tow. Behind a back drop of canvas and a clump of bushes, he found four men deep in conversation.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Baldwyn interrupted. They stopped and looked at him. His excitement gave him a greater sense of urgency and presence than he normally carried about himself. "I am looking for a Confederate Major who took passage aboard the _Charon_ within the past week."

"Major Whitlock, if I remember correctly," said a man with a rather pleasant tone of voice. "I am Captain Brockwell of the _Charon_. This is the esteemed Pastor William Franks," he said pointing to a man next to him with a pointy and well-defined nose.

"If I may be so bold, is he still with your party or has he departed?" Baldwyn asked quickly.

The captain shared a look with the preacher to his left. It was the latter of the two men who spoke up.

"Perhaps this is a conversation that is best discussed in a more private setting," the preacher said holding his hand out so as to guide them out of the square. Captain Brockwell nodded at someone as they excused themselves from the two other men, who were obviously local leaders not associated with the _Charon_ or its crew. They began walking down a back street back toward the river. "How well do you know Major Whitlock?" He asked softly.

"I daresay I know him quite well," Baldwyn responded with a similar softness. He was confident that these men were the same as the poker players in Robinsonville. He feared that they would try to protect Whitlock, and so he felt the need to play the situation as friend rather than a hunter. "Major Whitlock and I have a history. I am Albert Baldwyn of the Mississippi Home Guard and I am trying to help Whitlock avoid too much trouble for his disappearance."

"Well then, Mr. Baldwyn," the captain responded, "I think it is safe to say we do remember the Major quite well."

"He does leave an impact upon all he meets," Baldwyn said with a smile. "I have been able to track him to your boat, but I do not know where he has gone… unless he is still with you."

"Oh no, he is gone," the preacher answered. "I was most disappointed that I did not get to give him a proper farewell. Alas, I do believe that it has been a week or more since he departed."

"Really?" Baldwyn said, truly disappointed. "Do you know where he was headed?"

"Certainly," Brockwell answered cheerfully as they crossed the last street and came to a stop by the river just down from the dock. "He was headed south to New Orleans where he intended to catch a ship over to Galveston, Texas."

"Galveston?" Baldwyn said, most surprised. "I had no clue that he would head that far."

"We had no reason to doubt him," the preacher said. "He seemed to be a rather trustworthy fellow. I would hate to think that he was in any way disingenuous with me."

"It is exceptionally rare for him to do anything of the sort," Baldwyn said, rather pleased with how well he was playing his role. "Whitlock is not one who has a predisposition to lie."

"That is exactly what we thought," the captain answered replied as he raised his hand giving a signal of some kind.

Baldwyn turned around just as two men jumped him from behind. He recognized them as the men the captain had nodded to before they left the tent. In spite of his struggle, within moments he was subdued and had a gag in his mouth and a large hand over it.

"Now," the captain said, "we have given you the information you wanted. And we have been forthright and honest."

"I wish we could say the same about your friend Whitlock," the preacher said with utmost malice. "You will find him and help him as you said, but you will deliver a message to him from me personally."

Baldwyn watched as Captain Brockwell pulled a revolver from somewhere inside his coat and handed it over to Pastor Franks. The preacher stepped forward, holding the pistol up almost resting it on his shoulder as he cocked the hammer. Baldwyn, restrained and outmanned, moaned as he struggled, fearing that he was about to be murdered by a man of God. The preacher reached up and grabbed a handful of Baldwyn's hair. He turned the guard's head toward the horse and, without any hesitation, shot the horse in the head killing it with one shot. The horse fell lifelessly to the ground as Baldwyn's muffled shout of fear and anger could be heard through a roustabout's hand.

"Tell Jasper Whitlock if he _did_ defile my daughter," the pastor whispered directly into Baldwyn's ear, "that I will hunt him down and show less mercy than I gave this wretched mule."

The preacher released the man's hair with a jerk, turned, and gave the pistol back to the captain.

"Make sure the horse is not discovered," Brockwell casually ordered the two men, "and for God's sake make sure this son of a bitch isn't seen or heard from in this town."

"We can't afford any problems," the preacher added before speaking directly to the captain. "I don't know about you, but I feel a lot better already. Let's go spread the faith."

The two men stepped off and out of sight into the already darkened night without giving care or thought to the captive man who was left in the arms of two strong and brutal men. He had no idea what was about to unfold, but he reasonably suspected that they were not going to show any mercy to him. Keeping him gagged, they dragged him up the road toward the dock, where they were going to force him onboard the riverboat. He was thinking of all the things he would do to them if the situation was reversed. Then, all at once he realized that all those plans he was making would most likely be what they were going to do to him. Little did he know at that moment he was right. Slowly preparing himself for the worst, Albert Baldwyn quit struggling against his captors, as they continued dragging him up the street. Once he was resigned to his fate, he cried the first of many tears he would shed that night.


	15. Talk of the Town

As always, Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. The rest belongs to me. I'd have finished this sooner if it had not been for a side story that I have been working on as a surprise for a special someone. I must confess my incomparable love for the beautiful Wuogkat and undying admiration for the maleficent MaleficentKnits for their beta work.

* * *

26 April 1862

Major Jasper Whitlock could not help but notice the gray skies as he stepped onto the front patio of the Gulf Star Hotel. It was only appropriate as the weather seemed to match his mood. Jasper had been given the weekend to himself before officially reporting in his duties with General Hebert. While many soldiers would welcome the additional time, it proved to be a bit of a burden on Whitlock. He had spent most all of Friday trying to rest from his journey back to Galveston, but found himself reading newspapers, trying to glean the latest information from telegrams Sergeant McAdams received, and playing a couple of games of chess in the first floor parlor.

However, perhaps nothing affected him more than taking the time to write letters to his family. Jasper had not sent any information to his family since being released as adjutant to General Beauregard. He felt exceptionally guilty for not sending a telegram to his mother letting her know that he was safe after Shiloh.

_Surely_, he thought, _she has determined that it our regiments were involved in that engagement._

It was his guilt that led him to write a full four-page letter, as he attempted to atone for his oversight through an additional outpouring of information and reassuring her of his love for family and country.

As he exited the hotel, Jasper saw quite the bustle on the Strand as carts jockeyed for position on the street. The street had become clogged due to what seemed like an innumerable mass of farmers, business owners, and factory lorries hurrying to beat out the impending storm as they took their goods to market and port.

Relieved that he did not have to deal with this headache, Jasper turned east up Twentieth Avenue toward the post office. A block up, he passed the stables where Tex was, but resisted the urge to stop and see his horse. His destination was only three blocks away, and it would be silly to ride a mere two more blocks. Plus this walk gave him the opportunity to look at the city a little more slowly.

Although he had only been gone a few months, Jasper had already forgotten what city life was like. He had acclimatized to living off the land, sleeping on the ground, and eating when he had the chance. Here, on the other hand, he had the luxuries of having any whim attended to, a comfortable bed, the ability to eat by the clock, and even gas lamps that would allow him to stay out exceptionally late if he so desired. Crossing Market St, he could see the sign for the ice house ahead on the right. Jasper could not remember the last time that he had a chilled beverage, but this was a prime example of what he missed about the urban amenities. Here, in the largest city in Texas, ice and chilled drinks were an option in the finest restaurants.

Across the street diagonally was the post office. It was a large, two story building* with Greek columns, a second story balcony, and a massive Texas flag over the west entrance. He hopped up the steps with a bounce in his step that led him into the building and toward the outbound slot. The skip in his gait was, however, quite contrary to his actual feelings. He was glad to finally get a letter posted to his family, but still felt guilty over taking so long to do it.

What was worse, guilt seemed to beget guilt. Writing and posting the letter was little more than a distraction for his true concern of seeing Connie again. He was concerned about their impending meeting that night, but was not sure how to handle it.

Exiting the post office he had a sudden idea and turned to continue up Twentieth Avenue. At the east end of this block was St. Mary Cathedral. While Jasper considered himself to be a believing man, he set no particular sect above another. However while he was in Galveston, he had a particular affinity for the Catholic parish. He particularly liked the architecture, stained glass, and beautiful accents throughout. A light rain started to fall as he rounded the corner of the block and he quickened his pace to get into the sanctuary.

Once inside, he looked around at the familiar sights as he made his way down the aisle to the high alter. There, carved into the marble altar was a replica of the Last Supper. Jasper had always loved this particular piece of work. The painstaking detail etched into the stone took a patience and skill that few possessed. Jasper came to sit and ponder in the peaceful quiet offered by the sanctuary. The gentle rain falling outside helped soothe him as he thought about what was bothering him. He was so lost in thought that he did not notice the footsteps approaching him.

"Looking for peace, my son?" asked a priest, who was old enough to be his father. Jasper would love to have his own father with him now. His father was a kindly man who always seemed to have the perfect advice for him when he was a child.

"You could say that, Father," Jasper responded thickly.

"Well, you could have found no better place," he said as he sat down on the pew beside Jasper. "We find that soldiers rarely frequent us outside of mass unless they are seeking something. What is it that you are searching for?"

"Answers," he said flatly. "Do you have any?"

"Oh, I have answers aplenty," the priest said with a slight chuckle and warm smile. "However, which one I give depends upon the question." He paused for a moment, allowing Jasper time to think.

"I'm not sure how much help you could be," Jasper said finally. "It involves a woman."

"Ah yes… The obvious concern about whether or not a priest understands women," he said with a light-hearted voice. "Lady folk are not terribly unlike men folk; they are all children of God. Please tell me what troubles you."

"It comes down to this," Jasper said with a sigh, "I was courting a young woman some months back, and we had a particularly contentious falling out. Tonight I should see her for the first time since and I am, for some inexplicable reason, wrought with inner guilt."

He had stopped talking, but the priest just sat there silently. Jasper was not sure he was supposed to keep talking or if the priest was pondering his response. He began to feel rather silly sitting there, waiting for something to happen but he didn't know what else to say without going into greater detail over the incident with Constance.

"Affairs of the heart are always complex," the priest finally said. "But if you are to find peace, you need to know why you feel guilty. What was your part in the split between you two?" Jasper opened his mouth to speak, but the priest continued cutting him off, "Was the conflict a result of sin? Mistreatment? Perhaps a misunderstanding? I do not need to know what transpired nearly as much as you need to know what reason _you_ have for guilt."

Jasper sat there for a moment pondering. He had committed no sin, nor did he see any reason he should have continued off their courtship. In fact, no matter which way he looked at the situation, Jasper could not see any way in which he was guilty even though he was the one who walked out of the relationship.

"Father," he said, "I honestly do not know any reason I should feel guilt, but I still feel a sense of dread."

"Well, these are different problems," the priest responded. "Dread and guilt are different things. Guilt follows sin, but dread precedes the unknown. Clearly you do not know what to expect once you see this young lady again. What will she do? Will she be angry? Will she be sad? Will she blame you?"

He paused.

"Remember this, son; what she does or says is of no consequence to you or your soul. You are only responsible for your own actions. Keep them honorable, and you will be fine."

Jasper was amazed. He had never had a problem in life and death situations, he was surprisingly relaxed in battle, and he had the ability to calm those around him. However in this one circumstance, involving a woman, he seemed at a loss. Yet listening to this priest put his worries into words seemed to add the clarity and insight he was unable to gain on his own. No matter what happened tonight, it was up to him to remain calm and not allow the ghosts of months passed to haunt him now. He finally felt the peace that he sought.

"Thank you, Father," Jasper said sincerely.

The priest clapped him on the back before standing up. "God speed, son. May He bless you all ways, always."

Jasper remained there enjoying the peace of the sanctuary and the calming rainfall outside. There was a minimal noise as so very few people were there praying. At one point, an altar boy came through to check on the lit candles and speak with the priest. After about an hour, the rain finally began to taper off, and Jasper decided that it was time to move along. He had other parts of the city to see and he had to make sure and prepare for the night's festive gala.

Jasper heard the sound of music wafting up to the second floor as he descended the grand staircase in his finest uniform. His brass buttons and insignia were brightly polished, a yellow sash tied about his waist covering his belt, but carefully placed so as not his cover his saber. He would never admit it, but he had spent the last two and a half hours carefully preening and preparing for this. His emotion had nothing to do with his return to Galveston, nor any concerns he might still harbor regarding rumors that he was unfit to serve on the front. His preparation came down to one thing… one person. Thanks to his conversation with the priest, Jasper no longer bore a sense of guilt, but in spite of the advice, Jasper was still nervous about his impending meeting with Connie.

Constance Austin was a young woman of pedigree and descended from a family with great influence in Texas. She was somehow distantly related to the great statesman Stephen F. Austin, although Jasper could not for the life of him remember how. All he knew was that it was close enough to carry weight, but distant enough not be a regular at the family reunions. She and Jasper had had relationship that many in the community recognized as committed and exclusive.

Their relationship was well known in the city, as every elite ear had been filled with the gossip of Miss Austin courting a junior officer of undesirable lineage. If there was anything about the situation that bothered Jasper it was the disappointing realization that such gossip and flotsam of information surfaced even in a metropolis such as Galveston, TX.

Jasper was neither ignorant nor obtuse and recognized he was above his own status and social level with her. It was made abundantly clear at the first formal function they attended, nearly a year previously, when they were announced as _Miss Constance Austin accompanied by Major J. Whitlock_. However, this genuinely did not affect him. At first he considered it to be quite the privilege to court a woman like her but not, as many men expected, because of her status or beauty, but because of her soul and substance.

She, likewise, was not affected by his lower stature, even though there was no shortage of social butterflies reminding her of the inherent gap between the two. She recognized him as a motivated, genuine, and fast rising officer. Indeed, she saw a future in which the name Jasper Whitlock would be revered alongside Texas statesmen such as Stephen F. Austin or Sam Houston, who she still loved regardless of his resignation as Governor when Texas seceded from the Union.

In spite of the future's potential, their break up was so well known in the upper echelon of the community that Jasper had thought it may well have been published in the newspaper. He had not worried about the effects on her reputation, nor his own for that matter, but he was secretly relieved when General Hebert offered him to Beauregard. However, regardless of what happened between them, these few months of reprieve had not eased the pain he felt nor eased the worry of seeing her again.

The music was louder and clearer now that he was in the main lobby. This particular band was playing a traditional waltz with modified instrumentation… Jasper was not sure that he had heard a piano added into such a composition. Here Jasper stalled briefly by crossing to main desk and checking his messages. There were none, as he expected, but he still managed to make the stroll over the ballroom take longer than it should have.

_I delivered messages and rode into combat without so much as batting an eye_, Jasper thought to himself, _how difficult could this really be?_

As he passed through the doorway, he saw what was perhaps the most unique ballroom he had ever seen. He could not help but notice the dance floor was sunken into the center of the room. It was a two-step depression but there was no rail of any kind separating dance floor from edges of the room. There were also columns evenly spaced throughout the spacious room, which of itself was not so uncommon, but it was the fact that they were set in a manner that acted as a natural barrier between the dance floor and the sides of the room; it was like a wall separating those who were dancing and those who were socializing.

The most curious part of this ballroom was that the recessed floor allowed those conversationalists and wall flowers to look down upon the partnerships upon the dance floor. Jasper wondered if such design was intended so as to provide the gossip mill maximum opportunity to grind away. After all, such architecture naturally limited the numbers of active dancers, while simultaneously guaranteeing an audience for them. Almost as an afterthought, Jasper noticed another odd feature; that the band's stage was set even higher so that even those on the normal level had to look up to them.

In spite of the grandiose celebration, there were some less than formal features of this soirée. First and foremost, there was no maître d' announcing the arrival of particular guests. The second, was the absence of a wait staff. Instead, there were tables lining the wall with many splendid and varied foods available. Both of these points pleased Jasper. The latter because he always felt a little uncomfortable being waited upon. The first point was of greater importance because he did not want to be announced. This way it was much easier to slip in and, if need be, slip back out.

"Ah, Major Whitlock," called out a voice from his left, "Tis so good to see you this evening."

"Evening, Colonel Williams," Jasper replied courteously.

"Come, please," the Colonel beckoned. "Please meet my wife Gwyneth."

Jasper consented and bid appropriate greetings.

"Now, please tell us about your experience in Tennessee," the Colonel implored. "What was it like to experience true battle?"

No sooner had the question been asked than Jasper realized a small crowd was forming around him. He realized that his plan of being able to slip out quietly was no longer an option since his arrival made him an instant celebrity. Jasper saw many familiar faces from amongst the corps of officers present as well as many local social and political elites. Nearly every single one of them wanted to question him about the most recent, major battle.

"Certainly there are more interesting topics of discussion than Shiloh," Jasper deflected the topic. "As I understand it, we are here to celebrate Texas' independence. Shall we not talk about the glory of Glorieta Pass** and our noble statesmen and soldiers at Fort Bliss?"

"But Glorieta Pass is passed, Major," protested the wife of Galveston's mayor.

"With all due respect, Ma'am, so is Shiloh. Shall we not invite a happier and more festive mood this evening?"

Various voices called out in protest, each seeking details and inquiring of various aspects of the "real" war. Word had spread of his service in Shiloh and, as much as he did not like it, Jasper thought he may well have to recount the experience yet again.

"Surely you are not ignorant of the fact that you are a celebrity, Major Whitlock," called out a familiar voice that rose above the din.

Jasper turned around to see a rather beautiful and relatively tall woman beside him. Constance had managed to wiggle herself to the center close to him. Her light, rose colored dress was adorned with the most intricate white tatting and accents, and her raven-black hair came down in unnatural curls to rest upon her exposed shoulders. The small crowd around him grew silent, as the band played on and conversations continued throughout the hall. Those present, however, who knew their history, leaned in closely and listened with strained ear and great anticipation to hear whatever exchange these two might have. Those new to the station or who were not familiar with _Miss Constance Austin and Major Jasper Whitlock_ listened out of a mixture of respect and curiosity.

"I myself, however, do not consider your story or celebrity to be any more than a tempest in a teapot," she added with a smile and a certain contemptuous bounce in her voice.

"For once, Connie," Jasper said with surprising restraint, "I happen to agree. There are ample reasons to find a more intriguing topic of discussion."

"Oh, dear me," Constance said with a feigned sadness in her voice. "I must have led you to believe that it was only your stories that lack substance when in fact it is the teller of said tales who is indeed much ado about nothing… at all."

There was a smattering of "ohs" and "ahs" from the small gathering that could be heard among the sounds of music and dancing behind them.

"I can assure you that I could regale each of you with stories of bravery and sorrow," Jasper said to the crowd. "However, there are more than enough reasons to excuse myself from this discussion posthaste."

"Certainly you wasted no time in seeking an audience upon your return Major. Did you miss being the center of attention since you've been gone from my side?" Constance was prodding him, looking for a fight.

"Yes, I am sure that is it," Jasper said, nodding politely. "Now, if you all will excuse me…"

"But Major," she protested before Jasper could make his way through the small crowd circling him, "surely you will not deprive us the opportunity to relish in the exciting endeavors in which our valiant brethren are engaged?"

Jasper was not going to take the bait. She was good, and he could feel the anger welling up inside but he was determined not to make a scene. This was precisely why he had wanted to avoid the celebration. Constance could be one of the sweetest people he had ever known, but she also had a spoiled streak that made her malicious if she failed to get what she wanted.

"Perhaps the rumors are true, and it was indeed your cowardice that had you returned here," she goaded.

_If it is a fight she wants_, Jasper thought to himself as he turned to face her, _it is what she shall get._

"Pray tell, Major Whitlock," Constance continued. "We are at your mercy and the spotlight is resting upon you."

"Quite to the contrary," Jasper said as he turned to face his adversary, "it is you who are in the spotlight. No sooner had you seen a gathering than you sought to insert yourself into the very center."

"I have done no such thing," Constance gasped, now on the defensive.

"Haven't you? If you did not seek to be the center of attention, then I pray, whose attention did you seek?"

"I did nothing of the sort! You… you are the one who sought an audience and then try to deny it! It was this very lack of honor that cost you my hand."

This confrontation had so engaged the small crowd that more prying ears came to eavesdrop. In fact the band had stopped playing due to the dwindling number of dancers. The filler words from the growing audience had now been exchanged for sporadic bursts of laughter, as onlookers hung on every seething word.

"Madam," said a thick Creole accent, "I can assure you it was not your hand that mattered. It was other parts of you, which shall remain nameless."

Everyone turned toward the voice only to find General Hebert, who had made his way to the front of the gathered audience. This fact surprised many of the locals. His officer corps and soldiers were familiar with his soft spoken authority, but those native to Galveston had seen nothing other than Hebert's quiet dignity and were, therefore, taken aback.

"How dare you!" Constance shrieked. "Instinctively I knew there was no hope for a poor boy such as the Major, but you General? Not only do you question my honor, you fail to even address me properly!

Hebert responded by simply bursting into laughter. "Please, I beg of you," he began, "forgive my manners. I fully intend to live up to the manners and expectations of an officer. I would love to address you properly, but the only appropriate title I know is rarely used outside of a kennel, and much less commonly within a social setting such as this."

"You disgrace and dishonor us with such speak, General," blurted the mayor of Galveston. "You may have been sent here by the President, but you are still a guest in our company."

"And I understand," Hebert interrupted, "that many men have had the pleasure of Miss Austin's company as well." There was another outburst of laughter from some, while others shouted their disapproval. "Madam," Hebert said turning back to the lady, "if I have spoken incorrectly then I offer my sincerest apologies. However, if I am indeed correct, then I invite the lady to visit the lobby where some of the most sincere enlisted men who have never had the pleasure await you."

The uproar at this comment elicited such a response that even the band quit playing. Now all eyes and ears were upon their side of the room. Jasper found himself at the center of attention in a way he never would have or could have imagined, Constance was flushed with anger and embarrassment, and the multitude was still clamoring with an interesting combination of laughter and outrage.

"Now this has gone on long enough," shouted the mayor as he attempted to quell the noise. "We shall have order and decorum!"

"I completely agree," proclaimed Hebert as the room quieted to the mayor's request. "However it should be understood that any rumors about Miss Austin may well be fabricated… and I can assure you that any rumors indicating Major Whitlock to be anything short of honorable are completely unfounded. I can produce, for anyone who doubts, General Beauregard's highest praises regarding our dear major. In point of fact, it was his quick thinking and expertise in combat that prevented the events at Shiloh from turning into a slaughter. What you see is a battle-hardened officer who saved the lives of countless, brave Confederate soldiers."

They stood there in silence for a moment before Constance finally spoke up, addressing Jasper. "I knew you were below me, but hiding behind the highest ranking officer is truly low."

"Actually, Connie," said a newly-emboldened Jasper, "I was never beneath you. Captain Phillips was, and THAT is what cost you MY hand."

Once again there was a clamoring of laughter and cheers, only to be drowned out as the conductor struck up the band with a rousing contemporary song, "Camptown Races." Many returned to dancing, although certainly not to any traditional ballroom style. Hebert worked his way through the death glare being shared between Constance and Jasper, taking the major by the arm and leading him slightly away.

"I warned you she'd be here, and this is the best you could come up with?" Hebert demanded with a clear frustration mixed in with his Creole accent.

"Sir, with all due respect," Jasper answered truthfully, "I was attempting to avoid the situation. I chose not to speak of anything or to anyone. She confronted me."

"Well, this makes what I'm about to do much easier," Hebert responded, looking around uneasily. "You realize that I now look like the ass, don't you?"

"You realize that I didn't ask you to get involved or look like an ass," Jasper answered before he realized what he had said. He then added a quick and disingenuous, "sir."

Hebert exhaled hard while still staring at Jasper. "Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Major. Come next week you are leading a fortnight's bivouac."

"Sir," Jasper protested, "I did nothing wrong here and have done nothing worthy of being shipped out of town like some petulant child!"

"It is nothing of the sort. There have been problems brewing with some Unionists up in the hill country west of Houston. The regulars requested assistance, and I promised two regiments. You will organize and lead this operation."

"I appreciate that, sir, but it will appear as though I am being punished!"

"I know," Hebert said with a smile. "That fact will help mend the reputation I jeopardized a few minutes ago…. I love how well that all came together so nicely."

Jasper couldn't help but smile at the brilliance of Hebert's actions. He saved Jasper from excessive humiliation or irreverence while still putting Connie in her place. Hebert muttered something about dancing, then he gave Jasper a wink and excused himself to go and speak with a well-dressed young woman about half his age. He could not resist chuckling to himself before turning to go and work the room.

It was clear to Jasper that he was anything but a stranger now. Everyone recognized him from the incident with Constance, and most people at least looked at him, if not pointed, when he came near. Of course there were those who glowered, while others patted him on the back. While some officers may have liked such attention, Jasper did not care for it one iota. He ignored them to the best of his ability as he skulked about the edges of the room speaking with fellow, junior officers who he had not seen in months. Fortunately, the band had finished another Stephen Foster*** song and had moved onto a traditional Scottish reel, which seemed to draw particular interest from the MacPherson family.

This increase in both noise and tempo was a welcome change for Jasper. He predicted, correctly, as the noise grew the room would forget about the incident altogether. Within the half hour, he was finally able to move about freely without the gawking and turning heads. At least until a dark haired young officer piped up, "Major Whitlock, sir, tis wonderful to meet you for a second time."

"I am terribly embarrassed to say this, captain, but you have the advantage over me," Jasper said looking the man over. He was young, but obviously older than Jasper by a few years.

"Not to worry, sir. I am Captain Jacobs. We met at your farewell as you left for duty in Tennessee. I must admit that I have been intrigued ever since General Hebert hinted at your success in battle. I am truly fascinated at what it is like on the front lines."

"Captain, do you not realize that there is war enough remaining to provide you with more experience than you would ever desire?" Jasper asked coolly.

"I doubt not your words, sir, but I pray you indulge my curiosity…"

Major Whitlock had intended to avoid all such conversation. Having watched battle from the sidelines and seen the cost of lives, Jasper felt awkward about discussing the matter in detail with those who had not seen it themselves. Too often they glorified the fight, but failed to look at the larger picture of the war's disgusting underbelly. However, Jasper could sense something different… something truly genuine about this captain. It made him want to help, but he was still reluctant.

"I would certainly entertain your request, if you will but first indulge my curiosity. What is it that fascinates you so much about the front lines?"

"I honestly do not know, sir," he answered hesitantly.

"Then I shall make you an offer. When you can answer my question to my satisfaction, I shall answer your questions," Jasper answered matter-of-factly and turned to depart, but was called back by an undeterred Captain Jacobs.

"I shall visit you tomorrow, sir," he promised. "With an answer."

Jasper turned back and gave the captain a smile. Although it was not something overt, there was something in Jasper's eyes that Jacobs recognized as a fatherly expression. Whitlock continued about his greetings and it was not long before he was stopped again. A rather dignified looking older gentleman stopped Jasper and introduced himself. This was nothing out of the ordinary, but what happened next was. As they were speaking, the band had just finished playing another rowdy tune and shifted into a slow tune he recognized as "Beautiful Dreamer."

"My good Major," said the man, "I do not wish to twist your ear all night. Please do me the favor of sharing a dance with my daughter."

As he spoke, this stranger grabbed the hand of a nearby young lady with straight, long, black hair and a buttercream colored dress. The man twisted Jasper around with her and gently prodded them in the back, forcing them down toward the dance floor. At this point, the Major had no choice. He had to dance regardless of his desire, or lack thereof. Once upon the dance floor, he turned to face her, bowed slightly as introduced himself.

"It seems that I am not the only one who finds this situation to be a little unusual," Jasper said with a smile. "Major Jasper Whitlock, at your service."

"Melody Taylor," she said with a slight giggle and blushed to an even deeper shade of red.

As he took the beautiful young woman in his arms Jasper noted that it was simple three-step and led her in a waltz while looking upon her more closely. Her skin was naturally tanned, young and firm, upon a long face with well-defined cheek bones and slightly pointed chin. He could smell the scent of her perfume as they danced closely together.

"I hate to sound so foolish, but I have met you before haven't I?" Jasper asked about halfway through the song.

She lowered her hazel eyes that had been gazing up at him before answering, "Yes. We have a few times."

"A few times?" Jasper answered with genuine curiosity, but also feigned shock. "Tell me young miss, how is it that I could have met someone as beautiful as you and failed to remember such an significant event."

"Because you were with Miss Austin," she practically whispered. "We happen to frequent similar social events."

This was another pang of guilt for him. Jasper had intended to compliment her, but even he recognized how badly this must have made him look.

"I cannot begin to apologize enough for my behavior earlier," he said remorsefully.

"Oh don't be," Melody answered eagerly. "Although I would never admit it, I myself have desired to make similar comments on many occasions."

"I daresay that rather surprises me. I understood Connie… excuse me, Miss Austin, to be rather well respected."

"She certainly is," Melody answered nervously. Jasper could tell that she had not intended to speak so freely and wanted to find a way to take back her words or at least minimize the damage. "However that does not mean that everyone enjoys her company." She paused again, obviously thinking that she was making matters worse. "Shall I just say candidly, there is a rather low side to high society. I do believe I will leave it at that."

He hated to admit it, but Jasper was almost immediately smitten with Melody. They conversed, albeit awkwardly, for another three songs. She was a shy girl but a she was sweet, and that endeared her even more to Jasper. He could tell that she was somewhat like him; both were welcome in high society due to their station, but neither felt comfortable in that world all the time. Both were well grounded, which made Major Whitlock an asset with the common soldier, but in no other cases. Unfortunately for Melody, there was no redeemable aspect of this quality in her position as the eldest daughter of a respected Planter.

"Attention officers!" shouted a voice from the main stage as the band finished. "The time is currently eleven o'clock. At the request of General Hebert, all officers and enlisted men are to report to their barracks. He reminds that none are excused from duty tomorrow."

Jasper had not realized how late it had gotten. "The time has passed far too quickly," he said to Melody who he was still holding in a dancing position in his arms.

He could see her disappointment as she broke their formal embrace. "It has been wonderful. I thank you, Major," Melody said with a slight bow.

"Madam," Jasper said returning her bow, "if it would please you, I should like to ask your father for permission to call upon you again."

"I should like that very much," she said as a smile spread across her face.

Jasper then took his leave with a slow, but steady stream of officers bidding farewells and adieus as they departed for the evening. Jasper was lucky that his "barrack" was a room in the same hotel. His journey home would be brief. When he got to the door, he stopped and turned to steal one last look across the room. Secretly he wanted to get one last look at Miss Melody Taylor before he left, but felt foolish as he did. In his mind, this was an adolescent gesture unbecoming of an officer. Of course he immediately forgot this as he caught eyes, not with Melody, but with Constance. She bore an expression of anger and revulsion. Disappointment rose up in Jasper again, but it was not in himself. He felt disappointment in her as their past flew through his mind.

Months previously Jasper had loved his dear Connie deeply and believed that his feelings were requited. Jasper and Connie had even discussed the possibility of marriage, she being the one who first brought up the possible concerns her father might have with him being without lineage despite his status as an up and coming officer. Even though he had not at that point officially sought her father's blessing, he believed they were emotionally committed to each other. This all changed when he had been sent out on a week's training with the third division. They completed their assignment and returned a night earlier than anticipated. Although it was later than he would have liked, Jasper called upon his dear Connie at her home, only to find her with Captain Andrew Phillips and no chaperone. The implications of this were bad enough, but it was clear from their behavior that they had been intimate at some level.

That event precipitated the end of their relationship and soon spiraled into a great scandal in the city. Somehow, Jasper was painted as the "bad guy" and Connie's reputation remained largely unscathed… at least until the major's farewell when Connie arrived as Captain Phillips' guest. In spite of her companion for the evening, Connie had engaged in carnal relations with more than one officer that night. It was anyone's guess as to why she had acted this way, but Jasper could not help but to feel sorry for her. Whether or not he was to blame for her emotional state, she was still the one who passed herself around like a common prostitute.

Jasper was glad to be rid of her. There was no guilt because he had done nothing wrong. There was no need for dread because he knew how she felt and it would not change how he did. If Jasper felt anything for Connie, it was pity. It was too late for any other emotion. This night finally closed that chapter of his life and tomorrow he could start the next one.

* * *

*The original post office still stands, having survived the hurricane of 1900, but now houses the Galveston Historical Foundation.

**The Battle of Glorieta Pass was a major engagement in the New Mexico campaign of the Civil War that occurred a couple of weeks before Shiloh. Although a victory for the Confederacy, the cost in men and supplies was more than expected. The troops soon returned to the safety of Fort Bliss, Texas on the New Mexico border.

***Stephen Foster was a composer of the day who wrote many songs that have been incorporated into modern pop culture. His hits include "Camptown Races" "Ol' Susannah" and "Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair." You will likely know these songs by title or sound.


	16. Jasper's Request

This is just a quick little chapter to tide you over. As always, Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer and the rest belongs to my overactive imagination. I must confess my incomparable love for the beautiful Wuogkat and undying admiration for the maleficent MaleficentKnits for their beta work. Me love them long time.

* * *

28 April 1862

"Major Whitlock," General Hebert called from inside his office. The door was ajar and he was easily heard in the ante chamber.

Jasper walked through the door into the general's office and snapped to attention. The general pointedly held out his hand, inviting Jasper to have a seat. He crossed the room and took a chair.

"Major Whitlock," Hebert began, "I want to welcome you back to Galveston and the Texas Third."

"Thank you, sir," Jasper said with a slight nod.

"You already have your orders, but I am wondering to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit."

"Yes, I understand your questioning, sir. Just so as to keep you informed, I have passed appropriate orders along to Lieutenant Stephenson, therefore the men should be preparing for departure."

"Um hmmm," Hebert intoned in a bit of a questioning tone.

"I say that so you should not think we will be delinquent in our duties," Jasper continued. "I am here today, sir, with a personal request."

The general continued looking at him with no change in his expression. Jasper felt a little awkward. This was not the Hebert he was accustomed to, and he was wondering what the cause was for this drastic change in his demeanor.

"I am here because I would like Captain Jacobs reassigned to my company," Jasper said bluntly.

The general continued sitting stoically, as if in thought.

"Is there any particular reason for this request, Whitlock?"

"Nothing that I can site exactly, sir. I feel compelled to think that he could benefit greatly from this assignment."

"I saw you two speaking Saturday night… does this request have anything to do with your discussion?"

"It could be reasonably assumed, although I freely admit that I do not yet have a singular reason for this request. If I may be so bold as to speak directly, sir," Jasper asked and Hebert nodded his approval. "Captain Jacobs spoke with me asking about combat. While I generally prefer not to expound upon the subject, I find something different about him. He seems far more genuine than most who ask, and it is for this reason I would be obliged to have the opportunity to spend some more time with him."

Again, the general sat there, expressionless. He leaned forward and picked up something on his desk, and fiddled with it for a moment.

"He came in and made the same request this morning," he said in voice that sounded more as though he was asking a question than making a statement. "I'm wondering what there is between you two."

"Sir," Jasper felt himself on the defensive, which was an exceptionally rare place for him to be. "I can honestly say that there is nothing of which I am aware between us. I find his intent interest in the battle's front concerning, but genuine. I simply wish to have the opportunity to answer his questions in a professional setting."

"Either you two have practiced this, or it is a genuine request."

"I can assure you, sir," Jasper said, still somewhat defensively, "it is the latter of the two."

"I was also surprised that he was so bold as to ask advice from me."

"I can think of no better source," Jasper lied slightly, but was truly interested to know what a captain would come to a general for.

"I didn't want to get caught up in a personal matter, and I did not entertain his question," Hebert explained, "but I am curious as to the topic about which he was concerned."

"Sir, it was not too dissimilar from what I just told you," Jasper replied. "He was asking questions regarding combat and leadership on the front lines."

"… and you consider yourself qualified to teach this?" Hebert asked pointedly.

"Not at all sir," he replied coolly, "but I do feel able to answer his questions about personal experience."

General Hebert leaned back in his chair and looked up blankly at the ceiling as if the words he was looking for were written there. He took a few moments, which became awkward enough that Jasper started looking around the room. The maps on the desk had not changed, but there were multiple new telegrams. They were hard to read, but he could make out something about the Union Navy.

"Let me tell you about Captain Jacobs…," Hebert said. As he turned to Jasper, he seemed to calm down and also slipped back into his Creole accent. "He is from a wealthy family of good standing in Nor' Car'lina. The problem is that he's attemptin' to make a name for himself because, y'see, his father was a major who died in the Mexican War. In fact his father died because of poor leadership.

"Now havin' watched him, I suspect the captain feels the need to compensate for his father's failure. When Car'lina seceded, he resigned his appointment at the Academy at West Point. He was in his last year, too."

"He's from the Academy?" Jasper interrupted with a bit of surprise. "Was he studying military history and infantry?"

"Surprisingly, naw," Hebert said with a chuckle. "Well… he did take the required courses an' all, but he was an engineer by field of study. And a fine one from what I seen. But he's got it in his head that he was in the wrong field."

"So he's trying to learn combat operations and strategy on his own?" Jasper reasoned.

"It seems so," Hebert said as he exhaled. "I've been trying to use his expertise in infrastructure here in Galveston as we expand the city, but he's spendin' all his time reading and studying combat."

Jasper pondered all of this for a moment and seemed to understand the dilemma. He had seen on more than one occasion what happens when someone is asked to do something that does not come natural to him. In combat it leads to death. Now it was clear some of the general's concern centered on whether or not the combined requests were conspired, or if Jacobs has found some way of convincing Jasper to request him.

"General," Jasper began, "I understand your concern and share it a well. However I stand by my request."

Hebert, still leaning back in his chair stared at Jasper with his dark, beady eyes. It was as if he were trying to read something in Jasper's mind before making his decision. The fingers of his right hand were tugging slightly on his beard. This was a tic that the general had never seemed to notice he had, but Jasper noticed that it only evidenced itself when Hebert was in deep thought.

"Very well," he finally said as if he had been talked into it more than making the decision himself. "You may have him for the fortnight."

"Thank you, sir," Jasper said standing up and saluting.

"Any questions about your assignment, Major?" Hebert asked, ignoring the salute.

"None, sir. Your instructions were very clear."

"Well let me say it again… them boys from Houston are doing all the dirty work with the Unionists in the hills. You are just there to support the city."

"Yessir," Jasper answered, still saluting since the general had not yet returned it.

"I expect you to drill the men, but there is no reason to expect any engagements. And I don't want you gettin' any damned-fool notion of starting anything."

"I have no intention of it, sir."

"Very well," Hebert said. He finally dismissed Jasper by returning his salute. "God speed, son," he added as Jasper reached the door.

"Thank you, sir," Jasper replied as he walked out of the general's office.

_This feels good_, Jasper thought to himself. He couldn't help smiling as he finished loading his saddlebags. _I am avoiding clerical work and am back in the field with soldiers… this is where I am meant to be_.


	17. Two Letters

**A/N: I am sorry for the delay with this chapter, but it was for a reason. I invite you to go behind the scenes and read some of the outtakes from the Home Guard, which I am introducing as I publish this chapter. There are two outtakes, both of which connect to the certain chapters (details will be given in the a/n of each). Please take the time to go and read. If you are interested in the more mature material, there is one full of citrusy goodness. :) As always, Jasper Whitlock is intellectual property of S. Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Everything else belongs to me. Even the skirmish, because what happens in this chapter never happened on record. I have great love for my betas Wuogkat and MaleficentKnits! Also, thank you so much for those of you who review. If it would let me send you a message, I would thank you personally each time. Whew... sorry for being so long winded in this note. Without further ado:**

* * *

12 May 1862

"Tell them to advance with the retreat, but make damn sure to hold the line," Captain Jacobs told a sergeant, who promptly mounted his horse and started off toward the front line. The sergeant was stopped about twenty yards away by Major Whitlock, who spoke with him for a moment before continuing about his assigned task.

Jacobs stood on a small hill well back from the action occurring in the little valley below him. He was watching the combat through his field glasses and pleased with what he saw. Although this company had been originally assigned to help guard Houston while its primary troops went into the Texas hill country, conflicts had broken out between the Texas Regulars and German unionists from the Texas interior.

Fighting had broken out initially near San Antonio, but troops were split after a raid on the railroad at New Braunfels between San Antonio and Austin. Due to the unexpected strength of unionists Jasper's division was called upon for active reinforcement. They traveled by train to what seemed like the middle of nowhere Texas. It was right on the border between the Texas prairies and the hills.

"What news do you have, sir?" Jacobs asked of Jasper as the major approached.

"Nothing that you do not see yourself, Captain," Jasper answered. "What orders did you give Sergeant Guilfry?"

"Only that they are to follow the retreat, but hold their line while doing so," the captain replied calmly.

"Hmmm…."

"Did I err in my command, Major?" he asked noting Whitlock's unpleased grunt.

"Look at the surroundings, Captain. Look closely," Jasper was speaking as a father or a sympathetic teacher rather than as a superior officer.

Captain Jacobs put the field glasses up to his face and surveyed the scene again. He saw Sergeant Guilfry reaching the line and delivering orders. He looked across the line and saw exactly what he had seen before; a full company of soldiers perfectly executing their commands. Four platoons working in harmony to drive back a poorly organized assault from non-uniformed unionists. He looked up and watched them retreating up the valley and seeking shelter around a small hill on the left.

"There is nothing to see, sir, other than our victory," Jacobs responded firmly.

"Really?" Jasper asked, once again not as a commanding officer, but as a casual question from a teacher. "Look one more time."

Captain Jacobs again pulled his field glasses to his face to survey the scene.

"Put away the microscope, captain, and pull out the telescope," Jasper said with a slight frustration.

Jacobs did not really know what Whitlock was requesting he look for. Obviously there was something that he was missing, but the captain could not see it. All companies were performing flawlessly and advancing precisely as ordered.

"Major Whitlock, sir," the captain finally spoke up, "I do not see any errors in either order or execution. All has proceeded according to traditional combat procedure."

"Hmmm…," Jasper intoned again.

He turned and signaled the bugler who promptly blasted "recall" over the din of the retreating battle. At this point, all troops stopped their forward momentum and ceased fire. Jasper watched for a moment as the troops gathered themselves together and Sergeant Guilfry sped back up the line on his horse barking something inaudible at their distance. As the sergeant reached the end, Jasper gave another signal to the bugler who then played "to arms."

Immediately, the line shifted. Three platoons moved to the left so as to parallel the hill behind which the retreating unionists fled. However, the platoon on the extreme right of the company remained facing forward, but now created a forty-five degree angle in the line.

"Major Whitlock," said a very surprised captain, "I did not order any of this. I am embarrassed to say that I do not know what is going on here."

"Captain, I remain impressed at your knowledge of modern battlefield tactics," Jasper said calmly, "but what you lack is the presence to maintain a vision of overall strategy."

"But sir, how did they receive these orders?" Jacobs asked as he looked over the field again. He understood what happened, but he did not fully understand why.

"Oh… didn't you see? I spoke with the sergeant as he left to deliver his orders."

"Actually, I did not, sir. I was focused on the engagement."

"As well you should, however," Jasper said with an air of importance in his voice, "what you failed to do is look ahead."

He waited for a moment to see if the captain would respond before continuing.

"What your textbooks have failed to impress upon you, Captain, is situational awareness," Jasper explained calmly. "Your orders were perfectly fine for an open field or even in a forest with decent visibility. However, you must account for the hills and terrain here."

Jacobs was looking around, trying to pick out what he could. "Apparently you believe that there will be another push coming down that hill," the captain said pointing across the valley and to their left. "Why would they after we hit them so hard. They had no choice but to retreat. "

"They would want to turn the flank," Jasper said with a bit of frustration. "Surely you recognize that numbers are not nearly as important as position in a place like this."

As Jasper spoke, there was a spurt of shouting and musket fire. In that moment, a reorganized attack came charging down the hill facing the Confederate line straight on. Canons returned fire along with the Confederate volleys of musketballs. The unionists had gained so much momentum running down the hill that it was impossible to stop their advance and they literally ran into a wall of fire. Those who had managed to stop retreated as quickly as possible seeking safety in whatever quarter they could find. The second wave of the skirmish ended as suddenly as it had begun.

Jacobs stared at the field in amazement. Even though he had just witnessed the events as they transpired, his head was spinning with questions. Jasper began to answer before Jacobs could ask.

"They wanted to turn our flank. With the advantage of the high ground and a quick attack on an unprotected flank, they could have destroyed our line and troops with half as many men as they had. It would have been far too easy."

"I understand the tactics employed," Jacobs stammered, "and the repositioning was a perfect defense for that attack, but… how did you know?

"Situational awareness," Jasper said calmly. "You look over this valley," the major was now in teaching mode. He waved his hand slowly over the field as he spoke, so as to give the full effect of what he was explaining. "You looked too closely at the valley as an open field or prairie. What you failed to see were the hills…"

"I accounted for them, Major," Jacobs interrupted, defended himself. "They provide a natural barrier and a protection..."

"Unless, as you saw, the enemy attempts to use the natural barrier against you," Jasper spoke over Jacobs' explanation. "Then they are no longer an asset but a liability. Remember, it is exceptionally difficult to attack someone on the high ground; we would never launch an offensive up that hill, nor would we pursue them in retreat. However, a solid line and well-time artillery will almost always guarantee a successful defense."

"All of this makes sense," Jacobs began as he attempted to fully digest what Jasper was explaining, "but how did you know that the attack would come from the left side?"

"Simple…," Jasper stepped forward, again pointing out the terrain as he explained his logic. "The hill on the right side is much longer than the left and would take significantly longer to get around. In the event of their retreat, the quickest path to refuge is on that side. If they took the right, then it would be for a reason. They would have a base, reinforcements, train, or some other trick available to justify the additional danger. Now, look at the trees…."

Jasper continued explaining his reasoning and logic for his orders. This practical application was far better than anything Jacobs had ever received at the Academy. While he easily passed any exam, those were always in controlled circumstances that often followed clear procedure and protocol according to the text. In this case Captain Jacobs learned first-hand how exactly officers had to think in combat. He was genuinely impressed with Major Whitlock's expertise and superior knowledge of leadership in warfare.

What did bother him, however, was recognizing the major's obvious youth. He was amazed and somewhat insulted to be outmanned and outclassed by someone who was obviously his junior by a few years.

Within hours Jasper had received word that the majority of German unionists had given up the fight and had either fled northward to the USA or south for Mexico.* Along with this news came authorization for the company to return to Houston.

"This is the worst part of combat," Jasper said with a laugh in his voice as he sat down with Captain Jacobs. "Paperwork is the bane of any conflict. You have to document damn near everything."

They spent the next two and half hours discussing all aspects of the engagement; first sighting, who fired first, accounting for those killed, wounded, or missing. It was much more detail than Jacobs had imagined and far more than he had ever been taught at the academy. In all practicality, Jasper had no experience with after-action reports other than taking dictation from General Beauregard for his reports.

When they finally arrived in Houston a man came aboard with a telegram addressed to Major Whitlock. It simply read, "Service complete. Return to Galveston."

The return to Houston was welcome enough, but Jasper was truly excited about this and wanted to inform the men. The news spread like wildfire… not just that they were returning to Houston, but that the Major was personally delivering the message. This was exactly what endeared him to the soldiers and why he carried such favor with them.

The men reveled and somehow managed to procure spirits from somewhere on the train. Jasper should have stopped it, but understood how they felt. He didn't see the point in stopping their celebration of returning home. _Besides,_ he thought, _it's only another hour on to Galveston_.

Jasper did not join in their merrymaking. Instead, he stood on the landing in between two cars and enjoyed the solitude, staring up at the familiar stars overhead and the fresh air finally being free from the cabin. Off in the distance, he saw an eerie glow that he knew to be the lights emanating from Galveston. This was an unnatural feeling knowing that he could time his journey by watching the glow grow closer. This was a strange, new feeling for him and quite frankly he did not like it. However, as he stood there, Jasper resigned himself to recognize that things such as artificial lights were the future of cities.

They arrived at the train station just before midnight. It was a silent night as there was no one to greet them when the train pulled in. Their orders had altered so much since they left that it made sense no one knew exactly when they were to return.

"Return to barracks," Jasper ordered everyone. "Since we are so late returning, you are to report promptly at nine o clock rather than first light." He had no authorization to offer such leniency, but he felt comfortable taking the liberty.

"Captain Jacobs," Jasper said turning to his protégé, "unlike them, I expect you to report to the Gulf Star no later than seven-thirty. You shall join me for breakfast as we conduct some business."

Jacobs nodded his acknowledgement of the order and he turned to join the rest of the soldiers heading north out of the station and back to the barracks. Jasper collected his few effects and went down to meet Tex, who had been relegated to a boxcar at the end of the train. He didn't bother returning Tex to the stables that evening, opting instead to trust his care to the Gulf Star, since he was going to be back within a few hours.

It took only a couple of minutes to get to the hotel from the station. Jasper was somewhat amazed at how quick and easy the journey was with the gas lamps all over town. _Perhaps the future is not so bad_, he thought as he got to the hotel.

"Major Whitlock," called out the desk clerk, a tall, raven-haired man, as Jasper trotted into the lobby and past him toward the main staircase.

"Yes?" Jasper asked as he turned around.

"Welcome back, sir. I trust your venture proved successful?"

"As well as we could hope for," he said trying to suppress the exhaustion in his voice.

"I'm sorry to detain you, but I thought you'd like this as soon as you returned," he turned and pulled a couple of envelopes out of a cubby behind him, and held them out to Jasper.

"Thank you very much…" Jasper trailed off as he took the envelopes.

"Timothy, sir"

"Thank you, Tim." Jasper said warmly. "I truly appreciate this."

He gazed down at the envelopes as he turned back to the staircase. There was one addressed to him, but with neither postage nor return information. It had obviously been delivered directly to the hotel from someone locally. He checked the second letter; it was from his mother.

Jasper entered his room, dropped the letters on the dresser, lit the oil lamp, and proceeded to take off his uniform. He washed himself as best he could and prepared for bed before returning to the letters. He was most intrigued by the unidentified one and opened it first. It was one page, folded over on itself. At first glance, Jasper thought it was a joke or a waste of precious paper with how little was written.

_Major Whitlock,_

_On behalf the Taylor Family, I invite you to be our guest for dinner upon your return. _

_Melody Taylor_

Jasper was truly surprised by this. It was highly improper for her to make such a request directly to him. Such aggressiveness was not generally considered a desirable trait in a woman, but Jasper could not help feeling rather flattered by her gesture. He appreciated the invitation, but was unsure in what manner he should respond without implicating her or making himself appear to impose upon their generosity.

He pushed this idea to the back of his mind and distracted himself by picking up the letter from his mother. Jasper stared at the familiar handwriting and turned the paper over in his hand a time or two. Then he placed the still unread letter back down and retired for the evening.

The next morning, Major Whitlock was sitting at breakfast a full fifteen minutes before he expected Captain Jacobs to arrive. He made sure to rise early enough to review maps and details before meeting with the captain. Jasper was familiar with all the duties, but now considered it in a different light as he felt obligated to teach Jacobs all the duties expected of a field commander.

As he sat pouring over documents, occasionally sipping on his coffee, Jasper was unusually inattentive and failed to notice a man walk up to his table.

"May I join you, Major Whitlock?" asked a rather distinguished looking gentleman.

"Certainly, sir," Jasper answered standing politely and offering the seat. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Jasper was stalling. He stared at the familiar face, but no matter how he tried, he could not recall who this stranger was.

"Major, I know you are busy so I shall be brief. Firstly, I ask your forgiveness for my forwardness, but I am here as a father more than anything else. My daughter has spoken of you ceaselessly for the past fortnight. In fact, she has concocted a plan to have you as our guest for dinner upon your return."

_TAYLOR! _Jasper realized instantly, but he couldn't remember his first name. _Mister will have to work._

"I have spent the past two weeks doing my research on you, and I have to say that you have quite a reputation."

"Mister Taylor," Jasper interrupted, "I understand that there are rumors out there about my relationship with Miss Austin, but I can assure you…"

Taylor held up his hand so as to silence Jasper. "I can assure you, Major, there was nothing said that night about Miss Austin with which I would not agree. In fact, I believe your decision to part from her company adds to your credibility."

Jasper was taken aback by this. It certainly was not what he expected.

"As I said, I ask you to forgive my forwardness, but I am here to let you know that if you wish to court Melody, you have my blessing."

"Sir," Jasper stammered slightly looking for the right words. He had secretly spent a portion of his free time over the past two weeks thinking of how to ask his blessing in this very matter. "I am humbled by your words and consider it an honor to receive your blessing. Please know that I was certainly looking forward to find opportunity to speak with you on this very matter."

"Wonderful," he said with a smile. "If you can wait until Saturday, I would be honored for you to join us around midday for lunch."

About this time Captain Jacobs approached the two men. Jasper was slightly embarrassed to be overheard addressing such personal matters, but he did not want to put off Mr. Taylor.

"Mr. Taylor, it is I who would be honored," Jasper said as he stood to greet the newcomer. "Good morning, Captain Jacobs. Welcome." Jasper introduced him to Mr. Taylor, who promptly excused himself so they officers could take care of their business.

Whitlock wasted no time getting down to business, but in the back of his head he could not get his mind off of his excitement. Jasper couldn't wait to see Melody again.

*Do not let this confuse you. Texas was part of the Confederate States of America. They did not consider themselves part of the United States.


	18. Forgiven

**A/N: More than two months, and all I can say is I am sorry, I deserve all the grief and harassment, and cancer sucks. (I've been helping take care of nieces and nephews while SIL has been in chemo****. It's two states away, but fortunately I live on the east coast where states are small.) Anyway, I thank you for your patience. **

**One reader suggested this is an attempt to teach a moral. Not exactly... this is designed more to give further light into Albert Baldwyn, our unscrupulous home guardsman. We will get back to Jasper in the next chapter, which will be posted within fortnight. As always, I give my undying love to my wonderful beta MaleficentKnits. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer; no copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

16-May-1862

Albert Baldwyn sat up in his bed, swung his legs over the side, and used a homemade cane to help himself get up. His leg had improved tremendously over the past weeks, but he was still hobbling. He worked his way out of the room he was staying in, through the main room, and finally to the front porch of the rudimentary cabin in which he had been staying.

It had been about three weeks since he had been viciously attacked at the hand of some roustabouts from the _Charon_. Baldwyn had hoped that the captain would have been able to help him find Major Jasper Whitlock, who had once embarrassed him and kidnapped the deserter he had captured after the battle of Shiloh. As far as Baldwyn was concerned, this was tantamount to theft.

After that savage beating, he had been left on the bank of the Mississippi down river from St. Joseph, where he had his fateful meeting with the cast and crew of the _Charon_. He had been found by a rural preacher, Gabriel Connors, who found his near lifeless body amongst some weeds on the river's edge. He had been carried to the Connors' home on the Taconey Plantation, where he did not meet the pastor or his wife until he awoke… two days after his arrival.

"I see you still have a gimp in your come-along," said a portly man sitting on the front porch of the rudimentary cabin, puffing slowly on a corncob pipe.

"Yeah," Baldwyn drawled, "but it don' hurt too badly no more."

"You'll be movin' along soon enough, then?" he asked.

"Yeah… I reckon I need to keep movin'," Baldwyn spoke a little more slowly than usual. It was as though his body and his mind were telling him different things.

"I still do not believe that now is the time to go," the preacher said casually. "If I may be so bold, you still harbor much anger."

"Do I not have a right?" Baldwyn blurted, but after a moment's pause, he apologized. "I'm sorry, Reverend. I didn't mean to be so short."

This was one of the few times that Albert was genuinely sorry for his actions. He had been taken in and nursed back to health by the Connors. They had fed him well and tended to his every need, all without questioning him or his background. He knew that most people would have been wary, of such a situation, but was humbled by this family.

"Please do not worry one jot or tittle," Gabriel said with a smile. "Intellectually, I understand your position, but spiritually, I must confess my concern."

"Posh!" Baldwyn was frustrated… _why do I always get stuck with preachers_? he thought to himself.

"May I just remind you, reaping actions sown in anger has yet ever to yield a beneficial harvest?"

Baldwyn was not sure how to respond. His ethics and morals seemed to be the polar opposite of Gabriel's. Intellectually he understood the preacher's point, but spiritually he could not.

"How long before you depart?" Gabriel asked with a soft voice, showing his sincerity.

"I think I shall move along tomorrow. I'd like to leave by around dawn."

"Nonsense!" Gabriel scoffed as he stood. Then he said, with a smile, "you must stay long enough for my dear bride to make breakfast. I can't allow you to leave hungry."

Baldwyn dropped his head, as if thinking about what to say. In reality, he simply did not want to make eye contact. He was, in some inexplicable way, ashamed.

"I want to be square before I go, but I only have seven dollars – "

"– No no no – " Connors interrupted.

"– but I cannot repay your kindness," Baldwyn continued.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh," Connors continued, until his guest finally stopped speaking. "I have not once asked for anything from you, nor will I!"

"Nonsense! Everyone wants something, and I am just trying to remit that which is due."

"There is but one payment I wish, but it is not for me," Gabriel said as he stepping closer and grasped Albert lovingly by the shoulders.

Baldwyn was truly curious. "Shall I contribute to your congregation, then?"

"Don't be silly," he laughed. "No, I want you to forgive your assailant. The only thing you should pay is the price of forgiving." Then he added kindly, "Your soul will thank you."

"I can't do that," Baldwyn said shrugging the pastor's hands off of him and turning away. "What is it with all you do-gooder preachers, and why in God's name can't I ever get away from you all?"

"I think you just answered your own question," Gabriel half said, half laughed. "Has God been trying to send you a message? Finding all the answers you do not want to hear to the questions you do not want to ask? It could well be that Father-in-Heaven is trying to speak with you, but are you ignoring his words?"

Baldwyn did not want to hear this… _Perhaps_, he thought, _maybe that is the point. God is trying to give me message_.

"You are hesitant?" Gabriel asked. "Don't be. If you will not forgive him for yourself, then do as I have asked and forgive him as a gift to me."

"Why did you have to find me?" Baldwyn asked rhetorically, but with defiance in his voice. "Of all the people, why did another preacher have to be the first?"

"Oh, I was not the first," Connors said resolutely.

"I beg your pardon," Baldwyn said, turning back to face the preacher.

"Oh no, I most certainly was not the first to find you in the muck. In fact, I went looking for you."

"But…," Albert was lost. "How could you know I was there?"

"I overheard a couple of men talking about a body they found by the river, but neither was willing to check to see if he was alive. All I could think of was the parable in Matthew, in which Christ taught, 'inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.' Granted, it was a different parable, but it was as though God spoke to me directly and said, '_you are the Samaritan_'."

"You have a sermon for everything, don't you?" Albert asked mostly because he had no other response.

"Not everything, but I do have some rather entertaining ones. Kids always enjoy the sermon with the possessed pigs… and there is one with the talking donkey," Gabriel said repressing his own chuckle.

For the first time in a while, Albert Baldwyn genuinely laughed. The absurdity of these sermon topics was too much not to laugh. "I thought your imagination was creative enough asking me to forgive, but with sermons like those, I am impressed. Your congregation is fortunate to have such a leader."

"It is not creativity, it's just the Word of the Lord," Gabriel replied seriously. "If this is too much, then let me ask another favor of you."

"Name it, and it shall be done," Baldwyn said with great relief.

"Seek the guidance of a pastor more in tune with God than I am," he spoke with the same severity, but there remained a genuineness that Baldwyn could not ignore.

"You are serious about this, aren't you?"

"More than you know, Albert. You carry a lot of anger, and nothing can release it like forgiveness. Once you empty yourself of hatred, God will work miracles through you."

Baldwyn stood there on the porch, still not knowing what to do, much less what to say. He looked off into the distance, staring simultaneously at nothing and everything. After a few moments, he broke the silence and said, as he turned to return to his bed, "You've been an angel, sure enough, but there really ain't any need to live up to your namesake."

"Come with me and Sue to Natchez tonight," Gabriel blurted. "We shall dine in fashion, and it will be your farewell since you clearly are determined to depart without any fuss."

"If anything amazes me more than your generosity, it is your ability to learn me as quickly as you have," Albert turned to Gabriel hoping to show some sincerity of his own. "I would be honored to join you this evening."

Baldwyn saw Gabriel meet his gaze with approval and, as he worked his way back into the house, he heard the pastor puffing on the pipe once again. He made his way back to the room that had been given to him to convalesce. He wanted to get as much rest as he could before he continued on his quest for the Major. Unfortunately, there was nothing for him to do while lying in bed. His preferred activities involved two things that he lacked: a woman or a book. That was not entirely accurate though; there was a King James Bible that Gabriel had consistently left on the night stand. It was simply not an option to Baldwyn, who had left it there untouched for at least the past fortnight.

Left to his own devices, the bitterness and anger Pastor Connors addressed made their way to the forefront of Baldwyn's mind. He could not seem to get his mind off the fantasy of the things he would do should he actually come across the _Charon_ again. However, his daydreaming combined with the warm spring day to create a perfect afternoon for a nap. He drifted off to sleep before he ever fully realized that he had not yet met up with the men he was supposed to forgive.

He awoke hours later, just in time to prepare for his departure to dinner with the Connors. They traveled together in an open wagon, with Gabriel and Anna sitting in the front and Baldwyn rode sitting, or more accurately rolling around, in the back. They left the Taconey Plantation in the late afternoon, when the sun was still high in the sky, and began their journey east to the river. From there, they took a small boat across the river into Mississippi and to the bustling city of Natchez. Although it was only seven miles, the trip took over an hour.

Natchez, unlike Vicksburg, had a much lower elevation and was closer to the river. They arrived at the dock and chatted lightly as they strolled leisurely into town, which was essential as Baldwyn was still limping from his healing leg. In spite of his pain, Baldwyn remained very polite and cordial the whole time.

They talked casually about the war effort and the scares they had with the current siege of New Orleans. Union naval ships were attempting to take control of the Mississippi River, but had managed to be held at bay for the time being. Mrs. Connors was particularly disturbed by the news of the Union's presence so close to her home, but Baldwyn comforted her with the assurance that Confederate will power and determination to protect their homeland would prevail. Gabriel listened more than he spoke as he led the trio past the various warehouses that lined the river and bordered Canal Street as they worked their way up the main street to the inn where they were to dine.

The restaurant was little more than a large parlor that one might find in a plantation home. The trim and accoutrements were immaculate including layered wallpaper that brightened the naturally dark room. There was a piano in the far right corner near the bar. There was a man playing a soft melody. It was classical; Baldwyn recognized it, but didn't know the name of it.

In a considerate move, Gabriel chose a table on the left side near the entrance so that Albert would not have to walk any further than required. In spite of this courtesy Baldwyn made his way around to the far side of the table. He had a habit of sitting with his back to the wall so as to prevent anyone from sneaking up on him from behind; his combined demeanor and profession made this a necessary practice.

As they sat a waiter came to their table to greet them.

"We will have three servings of whatever you have on special this evening, please sir, along with a round of water," Gabriel ordered with his typical smile.

"Sir, if you care to comfort yourself on this warm day," the waiter offered, "we offer ice-chilled water this evening."

"That sounds wonderful, sir," he replied. Baldwyn could see excitement in Mrs. Connors' smile. It was clear this evening was every bit the treat for them as it was for him. "Mr. Baldwyn," he said turning his attention to Albert, "I would like to say that it has been our blessing to serve you."

"Mr. Connors, I-"

"Please, call me Gabriel," he interrupted.

"—thank you, Gabriel… you know that I want to repay your kindness –"

"You know that I want nothing in return for me," Gabriel interrupted again.

"Please let me speak my peace," Baldwyn said, obviously flustered.

"Must I?" Gabriel asked with a clear smile on his face. "If you feel compelled to repay, without forgiving your assailants, then I beg of you to resolve a couple of curiosities."

Baldwyn could have guessed what was coming. He knew that at some point he could be called to explain what happened.

"Pray tell, how did you come upon the curious condition in which we found you?" Gabriel asked directly.

Mrs. Connors leaned in somewhat when her husband asked the question. It was obvious that this had been a particular point of interest between the couple but, until now, neither had the gumption to question him.

He stalled as the waiter reappeared with three glasses of ice water. Baldwyn took his glass directly from the waiter, and swallowed a mouthful immediately. Mr. Connors did likewise, but his wife looked at hers oddly for a moment before drinking.

"It is a wonder, isn't it?" she asked rhetorically. "I had heard of ice in drinks, but never imagined such was actually possible."

Gabriel looked lovingly at his wife. He clearly enjoyed watching her excitement and joy at such a new experience. Baldwyn looked on, not knowing what to think. He had no interest in sharing this moment between them. In fact, he found himself somewhat repulsed by this nearly unnoticeable display, which only strengthened his resolve to just blurt out something and detract from it.

"I was attacked by men who were attempting to stop me from catching a deserter," he said so bluntly that the Connors were visibly shocked by the sudden comment. Albert secretly enjoyed this.

This began Baldwyn's now exaggerated tale of tracking down the runaway Confederate officer. What had begun as a simple act of revenge had slowly morphed into a robust adventure of the valiant home guardsman who was trying to bring him to justice. However, this particular version had managed to insinuate that it was Major Whitlock's failures in combat that led directly to the Confederate defeat at Shiloh and had contributed to the rash of desertions which followed that fateful battle. Although these facts were far from the truth, Baldwyn told his tale with such resolution there was no reason to doubt him. He had even managed to convince himself of the truthfulness of some his own lies.

And so the evening began. They seemed to be lost in their own world of conversation. The Connors were at a loss, wondering how such unscrupulous men could attain ranks of importance within the Confederate ranks, while Baldwyn managed to continue to dazzle them with stories and explanations. The restaurant slowly filled while they conversed, but they barely noticed. Over the course of the next half hour and the better part of their meal, the trio spoke more than they had in the past three weeks. Baldwyn knew he had managed to achieve near saint-like status in the eyes of Anna and that Gabriel was sympathetic, but he was not convinced that he shared his wife's conviction.

However, as they waited on their dessert, the oddest thing happened. In one of those rare moments of surprising silence in a crowded room filled with various conversations, the constant piano playing, and clinking of plates and silverware, Baldwyn heard a sneeze above the din. Most guests would have simply ignored this, if they even noticed it at all, but this was uniquely different. Both he and Gabriel looked over to the other side of the room, to see three men sitting at a table by the wall talking over their beers.

To Baldwyn's utter disbelief, he recognized two of the three men. One was none other than Captain Sydney Brockwell and the other was the charlatan preacher who was carousing with him up and down the Mississippi.

"Mr. Baldwyn," Gabriel asked, "are you alright?"

He didn't respond.

"Mr. Baldwyn?" Gabriel asked again.

"I'm sorry," Baldwyn said shaking his head slightly, as if that would change what he saw.

"Is something the matter?" Anna asked with true concern.

"I apologize, I mistook someone for an old acquaintance," he responded, attempting to buy himself a little time although he really didn't need it. "Gabriel, I would like to revisit our conversation from earlier today."

"Oh?" he replied rather surprised. "Is there any particular aspect with which you have found a renewed interest?"

"Certainly," Baldwyn answered leaning forward to take another drink from his now lukewarm water glass. "I am thinking about your initial proposition for me."

Anna looked on with particular interest, as she had not been privy to their earlier meeting.

"Regarding forgiveness?" Gabriel asked with great surprise.

"Yes, but unfortunately I am not too familiar with this from a religious perspective. How exactly does it work?"

Connors was taken aback. He had not expected such a question and was frankly not quite sure how to answer it.

"Well…," he started, "if I was to give you a simple answer, it would begin with looking over the injustice done unto you, of course you would no longer harbor any ill will against your offender, and not seeking vengeance against others."

Baldwyn leaned back in his seat. "Gabriel, I will be honest with you… I do not know if I can do all of that."

"That's understandable," he answered with great care. "Forgiving those who have wronged us is a very difficult thing to do. There are some pastors who say it is more of a learned art than it is a simple act."

"I have been thinking about what I would do should I ever meet my assailants again," Baldwyn began before trailing off.

"… and?" Gabriel encouraged.

"I must admit that I have thought hard about meting out vengeance with similar ferocity. I think I could move beyond that point…," again, he trailed off. After another moment's silence he continued again. "Well, what if I do not harm them physically, but still harbor malice?"

"This is a simple question, Mr. Baldwyn. Forgiveness is a difficult process, but God looks beyond the simple acts. He looks at our hearts."

Baldwyn had no reaction. He was not hearing what he wanted to hear.

Gabriel could tell that his guest still had some concerns so he continued, "think of it this way: you do the best you can, with the best intentions that you can muster, and God will do the rest."

With this, a broad smile spread across Baldwyn's face.

"Thank you, Gabriel," he said before standing up and reaching into his pocket. He counted out a few dollars and dropped them onto the table.

"No, you cannot, this was our treat," Anna and Gabriel protested almost in unison.

"I promise you, Gabriel, we shall be square," Baldwyn answered resolutely. "Should I ever meet them again, I will do them no harm and I will find a way to bear no further ill will against them… and God will do the rest."

Both of the Connors, especially Gabriel, were surprised.

Baldwyn winked at them. "I truly thank you for all you have done for me."

"I think your soul will thank you for what you have just done for yourself," Gabriel said. "Godspeed, Albert Baldwyn. May He bless your actions."

"I sure hope God will," Baldwyn said. Then, with a slight bow of his head, Albert Baldwyn slipped past them and made his way out of the restaurant. Gabriel and Anna watched for a moment as he limped his way past the front window of the tavern.

"Is he really going now? With no return for a night's sleep or anything?" Anna asked, half disbelieving.

"Yes, dear, he is moving along. Following the wind or the trail, I know not, but it is his time to continue," Gabriel answered sagely.

"It really is a miracle that God has wrought in him," she said.

"I surely do hope so," he said looking back from the window over to her. "He has a lot of anger to work through."

"But look at how much he cares," Anna said, almost pleadingly.

Gabriel sighed. "He does indeed care about a few things, but he still cares a little too much about balance. Consider his journey. Mr. Baldwyn is traveling hundreds of miles just to bring one rogue officer to justice. I am afraid that he is not ready to accept that there are some inequalities and injustices that God allows to exist so that we can learn and grow from them."

With a little more discussion on the matter, Gabriel and Anna sat there debating the future of Albert Baldwyn. She remained convinced of his growing virtue, but he was not sold on the idea. There was something that still did not feel right. There they remained, enjoying their evening together for at least a quarter of an hour before the most extraordinary thing happened. The front door was slammed open and someone was yelling as loudly as he could. "Cap'n! Cap'n!" he shouted frantically.

Gabriel and Anna turned around to see an unkempt and unshaven man who had just entered the tavern and looking around desperately.

"What's wrong, then?" a man said standing up from a table across the room.

"Trouble sir," the man panted. "Come quickly," he concluded, turned, and ran back outside as suddenly as he entered.

Without so much as a word, the standing man ran for the exit, bumping and pushing people in chairs out of his way. A second, rather well-dressed man followed in his wake.

"I wonder what on earth that was all about," Anna said to Gabriel, although he could barely hear her over the all the discussion and clamoring that had begun with the interruption.

A few men had stood up and walked to the door out of incurable curiosity. However, they had no sooner made it to the door than Gabriel had seen men running west down the main street toward the river. He also heard their muffled shouts through the window, but he couldn't make out what any of the raised voices were saying until a one of the patrons opened the door.

"FIRE BRIGADE, TO PORT TO PORT!" voices shouted.

At this a number of men, presumably locals, jumped up and hastened to the door. Gabriel, out of genuine concern, also rose to his feet.

"Gabriel!" Anna exclaimed.

"Stay here, love. I'll be safe," he said to comfort his wife. He waited for the wave of men to get through and he followed them out of the restaurant.

Once outside, Gabriel could see the black plumes of smoke billowing up into the sky. Men were running from all directions; some with buckets, others with blankets, and others with various tools. He followed the path of people down to the river, where he finally got to witness one of the most amazing scenes he ever could have imagined. They scurried about like a colony of ants as each man knew his exact role and hurried to fill his part in the play.

They were so precise in their efforts that Gabriel was little more than a bystander. He worked his way down in a little nearer and saw that the fire was coming from riverboat. On the bow of the vessel, where the flames had not yet reached, he could read the name _Charon_.

A wave of pain and disappointment spread across Gabriel's face. He knew this had something to do with Albert Baldwyn.

_It couldn't have been him_, Gabriel reasoned. _There was no way he could have done so much so quickly. He had only just departed. _

His gut feelings and his logic were conflicting.

_Surely there was no way he would have made it far enough away not to return for this_, Gabriel heard in the back of his head.

He began looking around, searching the crowd. He examined each man's face, each man's gait, and each man's clothes. _He has to be here somewhere_, he kept telling himself. But no matter how much Gabriel wished it, he wasn't there. Somehow, Albert had disappeared in spite of all the commotion.

Then, by shear chance, Gabriel saw something that only he could see as a bystander. Across the river, at the other bank, lay a single rowboat. It was too far south of the west dock to be an accident. As he searched the scene, he saw something that should have surprised him, but it simply didn't. Walking just inside the line of trees he recognized the telltale limp of Albert Baldwyn.

He watched the man slowly work his way up to the main road while the fire brigade worked in vain to put out the raging fire.

When Baldwyn finally got to the road near the dock, he stopped and looked over at the commotion. Even though it was across the river, the distance did not stop Gabriel from seeing the thing that hurt him the most. Baldwyn stood there, staring with a look of peace upon his face. It was the look of a man who thought himself to be right with God.

However, just when he thought there was nothing that could disappoint him anymore Gabriel saw something even worse. Mr. Baldwin turned from the scene, went over and climbed into the Connors' buggy and whipped the horse. Off it began to trot into the west.

Gabriel felt anger well up inside himself, but was so emotional that he did not even notice he was grinding his teeth so hard it hurt. What hurt most, however, was the realization that Baldwyn's parting questions of forgiveness were not for his own comfort, but was meant to be a reminder for the preacher.

"So much for being the Good Samaritan," he said to no one. Realizing his own foolishness, Gabriel stood there thinking of what he would do if he ever met Albert Baldwyn again.

* * *

End note: If you wish to harass me for not posting sooner, you can find me on twitter llamalikesbikes.


	19. Eccentricities

**A/N: It's been a long time, and I make no excuses**** other than I suck. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. All other material is my own odd creation. Much love to my readers, commenters, and wonderful beta MaleficentKnits.**

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17 – May – 1862

Jasper looked out of his window as he dressed himself. Clouds hung over the morning sky like a cold, steel blanket. Yet, he could see a red sky distant on the horizon, beyond the edge of the storm front. It gave the appearance of a coal stove hanging distantly somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico. It created an odd feeling, since the weather was much warmer than it appeared.

Rain would be moving in at some point, but Jasper had no clue when that might occur. He simply hoped that the inclement weather would hold off until after his lunch at the Taylor's.

Truth be told, Jasper was not so much interested in meeting the Taylor family as much as he was interested in seeing Melody again. He had been gone for more than a fortnight, and had not had opportunity to visit her since his return. It would have been highly inappropriate to call upon her since they were not courting. That did not stop him from being quite excited about the invitation.

Excited, but not anxious.

Jasper left his room and went downstairs to enjoy a hot breakfast of biscuits and gravy, a personal favorite. Afterwards, he decided to while away his time in the lounge. He found an abandoned newspaper that was a couple of days old. As was to be expected, coverage of the War dominated the pages. Local involvement was minimal, but there were some editorials about the Union retreat from the Mississippi River towards New Orleans.

The major news was all in the eastern theater of the war. General "Stonewall" Jackson had apparently retreated down the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia and General Johnston was having trouble containing Union General McClelland on the Virginia Peninsula Campaign.

"What's the point of holding the west if those bastards can't be trusted in the east?" Jasper asked to no one in particular. It was frustrating to be stuck in a low combat area of the war when there was such incompetence going on elsewhere.*

Although disappointed, he continued to read every word in the newspaper, searching for any military information. Unfortunately, it contained nothing specific or helpful to him as a student of warfare and tactics. Although not academy trained, Jasper was a natural strategist whose understanding of tactics came as naturally as breathing.

With a couple of hours until he was due to arrive at the Taylor's estate, Jasper decided to do whatever research he could. _Even if I could not learn about the current warfare, he would at least learn about Virginia_, he thought to himself. He folded the newspaper, stuffed it into a pocket, and headed out of the hotel to the library. He felt the humid warmth of the spring air hit him as he exited, which still felt odd against such a cold looking sky. He shrugged it off and headed south toward the library.

With minimal assistance, he found the atlases. He pulled out the newspaper and poured over the Virginia maps. He studied the geography and topography while rereading the details of each campaign, and worked out what he would do in each situation. With such engaging material, the next ninety minutes passed far quicker than he imagined possible.

In what seemed like a mere minutes to him, Jasper found himself hurrying out of the library and east toward the gulf side of Galveston Island. There on the north side of the coast was the Taylor estate. Jasper could see the immense, white, three-story house well before he considered himself close to it.

The Taylors were a family of new wealth. They were not of the same Texas stock as Connie's family, who relied upon their namesake's clout. Instead, Mr. Taylor made his wealth the old fashioned way; he earned it.

In 1834, as a young man, Joshua Taylor followed the wave of southerners who illegally moved west into Mexico to grow cotton in the rich soil of eastern Texas. However, instead of fighting for land, cotton, and slaves, Joshua fought for ships and water.

"Someone has to be responsible for shipping all that product," he had said at the time. "Why work at the dock when I can operate the shipping?"

And so he did. He scraped together every penny he could earn or borrow. The first ship he owned was so far in debt that he had to acquire food through some means of questionable legality until its return with full pay. After a year and a half of hard work and success, he was nearly ruined with the Texas rebellion of 1836. War destroyed Texas cotton production and he many of his counterparts fell by the wayside as their money and ships gave out.

As a businessman, he remained politically neutral in the war, which helped him avoid conflicts, but it also prevented him from gaining business in spite of being the most sound and reliable shipper on the Texas coast. When the dust finally settled he remained, thanks largely to loans from textile mills in Manchester, England with whom he had managed to forge a close relationship.

It is for these reasons that the Taylor name failed to become synonymous with that of the Texas patriots. Instead, he rose from the ashes of war and built an independent fortune not beholden to any other family or cause. Jasper, however, neither knew nor understood this history. All he knew was that the Taylor family was different. He found Melody to be a refreshing change from the pseudo-aristocrats he had dealt with in the past.

As Jasper approached the mansion, he saw immaculate gardens on either side of the house, but also noticed that there were no trees. The house was oddly silent as he approached. He didn't hear any of the sounds one might expect to hear from such a home. There was no bustle of slaves or servants working in fields, no tending of horses, or even kids playing in the yard. He looked around to validate his observation. It was so quiet that he actually noticed the soft crunch of his footfalls on the gravel path leading to the house; giving way to the clunk of his boots hitting the wooden steps leading up to the porch.

_Well, I doubt anyone could sneak up on this place_, Jasper thought.

He stopped and looked at the front of the house closely. It had a large white door with light blue accents and an oversized brass knocker. Windows completely surrounded the door; small ones on either side and one short, wide window on top. The porch was wide, and wrapped partially around the sides. There was a rail around the porch that seemed shorter than normal; no more than two and a half feet high.

Jasper withdrew his watch from his right breast pocket. The gold cover flipped open to reveal the time: five minutes before noon. As usual, he was early. Jasper instinctively wound his watch before sliding it back into his pocket.

He stepped forward and rapped on the door using the oversized knocker. He heard rapid footsteps echoing down a hallway and within a few seconds a young, fair skinned black woman opened the door.

"Good morning, sir," she said politely. "If you follow me, sir, I'll git Massah Taylor for you."

Jasper removed his slouch hat and stepped forward as the young woman opened the door wide for him to enter. The first thing he noticed was the lack of rigs or carpets in the long hallway that stood before him. Instead, the hall and the entryway featured immaculate wooden floors, polished to a nearly mirrored finish.

He followed the servant into a room on his right, a parlor, set up for entertaining. Jasper declined the invitation to sit, and opted instead to inspect the room. There were two small sofas set up across from each other, separated by an intricately detailed coffee table. There were two sets of matching wingback chairs perpendicular to the couches completing a square. There was a piano in one corner, with a wooden music stand next to it and a violin case on a shelf behind it. There was a large oak secretary desk against another wall, which led Jasper to believe this room was used for Mr. Taylor's business as well as entertaining guests. T he one feature that Jasper liked the most was the carpeting. No chance of scuffing the floors.

After a few minutes of inspection, Jasper was beginning to grow concerned. He had been left for an unusual amount of time for a guest who had an appointment… and a social call at their request as well.

Growing bored, Jasper began to look at the titles of books in the built-in bookcases. He saw titles and names that he knew could not be American or English: Socrates, Plato, Dante, and Machiavelli. He wasn't even sure he could pronounce any of them correctly. Then he came to names he recognized such as Adam Smith, Isaac Newton, Thomas Jefferson, and Alexander Hamilton. Jasper was not unaccustomed to being the odd man out of high society functions as his poor, farming roots were not well educated. He hadn't received much in the way of formal schooling, and certainly no university education, especially at his age. Jasper's education was largely what he created for himself such as how he spent his morning in the library learning from a combination his own instincts and research. It was his charisma and charm that had allowed him fit in with such circles.

A door behind him opened and in walked two women. He did not recognize the first; she was older, but still very attractive. She was quite thin and had dark brown hair. Her skin was soft, but definite lines were forming around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. Otherwise there were no signs of aging outside of the confident demeanor with which carried herself. It was a gait of maturity that was not often seen in younger women. She needed no introduction, as this could be no one other than Mrs. Taylor. Her facial features and physical structure were too close to that of her daughter's to be anyone else.

Just a couple of steps behind her came Melody. It is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Jasper did not know if this was really the case, but he was certainly confident that, if nothing else, she was even more attractive than he remembered. Melody had an infectious smile that created a sense of excitement that he could feel all the way down in his stomach. His eyes met hers and her smile grew a little larger. Jasper couldn't help but to smile back, and he saw her cheeks flush.

All of this happened in the first few seconds of their entry, before anyone could even speak. Melody was rather embarrassed knowing she blushed and hoped her mother had not seen. She was, however, blissfully unaware that this secretly made Jasper rather happy.

Behind both of them was the young woman who had greeting him and led him into the parlor. She stood quietly by the door, waiting for instructions.

"Major Whitlock," Mrs. Taylor said offering her hand. "Welcome to our home. It is a pleasure to have you with us today."

"Ma'am," Jasper said, taking her hand and bowing slightly. "The pleasure is mine."

"I'm Ruth," she said casually, before turning to her daughter, "and of course you have met Melody."

"That I have, but may I say what a pleasure it is to see her again," Jasper said as he stepped forward to take her hand. This time, however, he pulled her hand up as he bowed and kissed the knuckles of her right hand.

This was not a particularly unorthodox greeting, but the placement of his lips that high up, rather than near the fingertips, showed more than just a casual interest. It was a subtle move, but it was still obvious and not lost on Mrs. Taylor.

"Please, Major, have a seat," Ruth invited, holding out a hand offering him a seat in one of the wingback chairs. They sat together on the couch to his right. "Sadie, please get us something to drink," she said turning back to the woman by the door, who bowed and offered a quiet, "yes ma'am," before disappearing out the door and scuttling off down the hallway.

"So Major," Ruth started, "please tell us about yourself."

Jasper hesitated with a slight chuckle. "That is a big question, Mrs. Taylor. What would you like to know?"

"Oh just some of the basics. Who are you? Where do you come from? Why are you in Galveston?" She said casually, almost as though the answers did not matter but he knew they did.

Jasper began by answering her direct questions individually, acting as if this was more small talk than interrogation. Both women listened politely while he spoke, and Mrs. Taylor would interrupt with an occasional, airy "isn't that interesting," or "how fascinating."

The servant girl soon returned with a drink tray, which she placed centered on the coffee table. Hot tea. Jasper couldn't think of anything he'd like less, but he was certainly not about to question their hospitality. He did, however, notice an oddity about the serving; there was only one teacup.

"I hope that this is not too much of an inconvenience," Ruth said, "but Mr. Taylor will be delayed. He received some urgent matter regarding his work, and asked that we entertain you until he is free."

"That's is no trouble at all, ma'am," Jasper said cheerfully. "I am delighted to be in your company."

"Well, that sounds rather pleasant, but I do not believe that I will be in your company for too long," Ruth said before turning her head slightly to steal a glance from Melody. "We do not know how long Mr. Taylor shall be detained, so I have asked Melody if she would take you on a walk about our grounds."

"That sounds like a wonderful way to while away the time," Jasper said, but perhaps with a little more excitement than he intended. "I was admiring your gardens as I walked up the lane, and would be privileged to get a closer inspection."

"Well it's settled then," Ruth chirped as she stood up. Melody and Jasper both followed her example. "I shall have Sadie call upon you whenever Mr. Taylor is ready. I hope it will not be too long."

Melody stepped forward and Jasper stepped toward her and extended his left elbow.

"Shall we?" he asked rhetorically.

Melody wrapped her right hand around his arm and allowed herself to be led to the door. Jasper opened the door for the lady and escorted her out of the parlor to the front door. Once outside he noticed that the wind had picked up noticeably in the short time since he had arrived.

"You have been awfully silent today, Miss Melody," Jasper observed.

"Well, I was not sure what I should say," she squeaked timidly.

"Nonsense! Discussion was not our weak point the last time we spoke," he answered.

"True though that may be, I was not sure how my mother would receive you."

Jasper chuckled. "I did not know if she had any say. You extended an invitation that your father validated."

"That is rather accurate," she said as her lips spread into a wide smile. "I guess she does not have much say in the matter, does she?" Jasper did not know exactly what was occurring, but there was obviously something going on between the two.

"So it is to be a walk about the grounds? How very Georgian** of you," Jasper said jokingly.

"I guess my family's old fashioned ways are a bit obvious," she laughed, "but if you notice we are modern enough to remain without a chaperone."

Although he was the escort, Jasper felt himself being led across the porch, down the steps, and onto the fine gravel path. Melody moved him left to the garden on the south side of the estate. It had a solid stone path that created squares approximately ten feet across. They were filled with all kinds of flowers. If there was any area that Jasper knew less about than literature, it had to be flowers. He knew practical things, such as farming and how to survive in the wilderness but things such growing flowers for beauty were beyond his comprehension.

"This was my favorite garden as a child," Melody said, walking with such a bounce that she was nearly skipping. "My mother always grew the most fascinating flowers… like these lilies here." She pointed to a fancy flower that Jasper had seen only in churches around Easter, but he had never known its name.

"Or these daffodils here," she said pointing to a group of yellow flowers a little further down. Jasper was not sure he had ever seen such flowers before. "The bulbs were a gift from a Welsh trader my father knows."

And so they walked through the garden, inspecting the various squares of flowers and Melody telling a story about each one. It was more than he knew, and more then he cared to know. Yet somehow he was enthralled hearing her excitement as she told about each plot and little memories about each flower.

"So, what would you say is you favorite flower?" Jasper asked as they reached what he thought was the end of the garden.

"Oh, nothing that we have here to show you," she said with a bit of disappointment in her voice.

"Really? What kind is that?" He had already seen so many flowers, he couldn't imagine many others beyond what they had already grown.

"Without a doubt, it has to be the sunflowers," she said happily.

"Sunflowers?" Jasper asked. "What are those?"

"Oh, sunflowers are the most wonderful flowers ever!" she said with such excitement. "They are the giant yellow flowers that can grow over six feet in height, and have enormous heads filled with seeds."

Jasper couldn't imagine exactly what she was talking about; it was such an exotic description.

"When I was a child," Melody said slowly, as she was remembering this for the first time in many years, "my mother would fill two or three of these squares with sunflowers. They would be planted a few feet apart from each other, and I would play and hide in there every day. In my mind, I was a princess, and this was my own castle, made of flowers. Some days I would stay in there all day, just waiting for my prince to come. It was so enchanting."

She sighed as she reminisced. Such things did not happen often, but Jasper was moved by this story and he actually wished he could see one of these sunflowers.

"They bring you such happiness, I am compelled to ask why do you not still have them today?"

"I don't really know," she said as if she never really thought about it. "The simple answer is that mother has no more seeds."

"That answer sounds simple enough," Jasper answered, "but I cannot imagine simply discarding something that would bring you such joy."

Melody blushed and looked down as if trying to hide that from him. Jasper turned to move back toward the house alone so as to give her a private moment to avoid any embarrassment. He waited a moment while she composed herself, and she returned to his side on her own.

"Please forgive me if I am a little forward," Jasper said. "I do not have the patience for games, so I speak directly."

"Posh! You are a rather sweet gentleman," she said as she took his arm again.

"Now, shall we go see the gardens on the other side?"

"We could, but I thought you might like to see the water," she said pulling gently on his arm, leading him toward to Gulf.

"Normally I would, but what would your father say if we were to go that far from the house?"

"He would never know," she said confidently, "I want to show you somewhere else that I played as a child."

"I am intrigued," Jasper began, "but I admit I am a little concerned about how our watchman would feel about that."

"Watchman?" Melody asked rather confused.

"Up on the widow's watch,*** someone is watching us rather intently," Jasper said coolly. He neither pointed nor looked in the direction of the house.

Melody turned to look at him and when she did, looked casually over his shoulder up to the house. There, at the very top, she could make out the silhouette of a man standing and looking in their direction. Upon seeing him, she dropped her head.

"I am so sorry," she whispered.

"Sorry for what?" Jasper asked with great concern.

"My father is more than sufficiently cautious when it come to the men who wish to court me. He is notorious for doing silly little things to test them," she said, still harboring shame in her voice.

"Why do you act as thought this is your fault?" he asked soothingly.

She sighed, but didn't answer.

"Fret not," Jasper said. "I have seen and heard many tales of fathers protecting their daughters through many means. Some are aggressive, but most are just concerned fathers. Mr. Taylor is simply watching over you. There is no harm in that."

His words were nothing spectacular, but they were surprisingly comforting, something intangible. It was more like his voice, or his presence, was soothing her concern.

"He can be rather silly about it," Melody said with an underlying laugh. "One young man called upon him for permission to court me, and my father derived the silliest test that I could imagine."

Jasper looked at her, his eyes begging for an answer, but he could tell she was reluctant.

"Pray tell," he finally prompted.

"One time," Melody started.

She stuttered a couple of times. Clearly she was embarrassed to tell the story. She finally composed herself and began again.

"One time, when this would-be suitor asked my father for permission to call upon me, he said that the first date would have to include dinner in our home with our family. He asked Sadie to fry some chicken for the main course. I thought everything went well, but following dinner my father informed him there was no need to return."

Jasper stood there for a moment waiting for her to finish the story, but she never did. She was silent.

"My dear Melody," Jasper said, "I must admit that the nature of this story is beyond my reasoning. What was his offense?"

"That is precisely why this is so hard to tell. Unbeknownst to me, the meal was his test," she said flatly, as though to try and hide building anger.

He mulled this over for a few moments, but was unable to interpret the reasoning. Chicken? Dating?

"I am sure your father had his reasons," Jasper finally said with a bit of feigned confidence.

"His reasoning was stupid!" she finally blurted out. "Apparently, my father equates fried chicken with a man's intentions. He asked for a leg, and my father believed his intentions to be less than honorable."

Jasper worked hard to repress his laughter. Of all the stories he had heard, this was the silliest. He could only imagine what might have happened if the suitor had asked for a breast or a thigh. This thought made the laugh even harder to prevent.

"He's a silly old codger!" she said more frustration than anger.

"I think he's a wonderful father who will do anything he can to protect you from men of unsavory ilk."

"Well, I am relieved to hear you say that, but I am afraid I may have now frightened you off. You will return home this evening and tell all your friends about how odd the Taylor family is."

"Melody," he said firmly and directly. She looked up at him. "You needn't worry of any ill words from me. In case you have forgotten, I have seen the other families of this city, and if that is considered normal, I would not have you aspire to it."

Melody Taylor stood there looking into Jasper's eyes. There was something different about him. She could not say what it was, but he was genuinely warm and caring. He had an ability to comfort her with just his voice. Perhaps most important to her was that he seemed able to tolerate her family's eccentricities.

They stood there for another moment so engrossed in each other's company that neither of them had noticed the impending storm had finally arrived. The first few drops of rain fell harmlessly around them, but then, as if a valve had been turned, they were being pelted with thick, heavy drops of rain.

They turned and ran for the house. Jasper couldn't resist looking up at the widow's walk. He saw that it was now empty. Apparently Mr. Taylor had been less distracted than they were and removed himself prior to the storm's arrival.

By the time they got the porch, they were both soaked through to their skin. Jasper looked out at the storm and was surprised to see rain coming down so hard that it was like a wall of water. He turned to back to Melody, who was cowering as much as she could.

"Are you cold?" Jasper asked instinctively, before realizing that he could almost see through the light parts of her wet dress. She was simply attempting to cover herself. Jasper was a little disappointed, but knew that it was only appropriate to divert his eyes.

"Go inside, Melody, so you can dry yourself," Jasper told her. "I will stay out here until I dry off, or the weather relents."

"No, no," she said with a shiver. "Come on in one minute after me."

He heard the door open and then close quickly behind him. The short wait began, but before the appointed minute was up, Sadie opened the door and ushered Jasper inside.

"Major Whitlock," Mr. Taylor said with concern in his voice as Jasper entered. "Please come with me. I am certain we can find you something dry to wear."

Jasper followed him upstairs, which was carpeted unlike the hallway, into what was obviously the master bedroom. By the time Jasper had even made it fully into the room Mr. Taylor had already half buried himself in a wardrobe and rummaging around for clothes.

"I thank you very kindly, sir," Jasper said respectfully.

"Thomas," he answered. "Please call me Thomas." Before Jasper could respond, he extracted himself from the wardrobe with an old suit in hand. "I am afraid that you will need to wear your own boots as I believe your feet are significantly larger than mine, but I do believe this suit will bide you."

"Again, I thank you, Thomas. I'm sure it will be fine."

Taylor nodded and headed for the door. "I apologize for my delay this afternoon. I assure you that it was only a temporary distraction. When you have changed, please come and join us for lunch."

With that he excused himself, and left the room. Jasper had assured himself that all would be well and that Melody was a woman well worth an eccentric family, but things were starting get a little odd.

_Why would he meet with me earlier in the week to assure me that I had his blessing, only to feign business as an excuse to watch me from the roof? _Jasper thought to himself. _There is no way this makes any sense._

As he changed, he continued to ponder the events, and was not sure if this had anything to do with the apparent tension between Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. In the end, he pushed the thought from his mind as he finished changing. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw how silly the change of clothes looked on him.

Thomas Taylor was not a large man, but he was neither as skinny or as tall as Jasper. This meant that the clothes were both shorter and baggier than they needed to be. The shirt and suit coat were not too bad, but the height difference was obviously in the legs. In the mirror he could clearly see the tops of his boots. He decided to sit on the bed just for a laugh. The pants rode up to the point that he could see leg hair on the middle of his shin.

"I hope there is a tablecloth," he said to no one as he stood up and straightened out the clothes as best be could. He exited the room and headed downstairs where the maid was waiting for him.

"If you will follow me, sir, I will show you to the dining room," she said with a curtsy.

"Sadie," Jasper said, "if I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer?"

"Of course sir," she said humbly, "I'll tell you anything you like."

"Be honest with me," he said, then he leaned in close and whispered, "does this look as ridiculous as I think it does?"

She gave him a quick look over. Jasper saw the corners of Sadie's mouth twitch as though she was about to laugh, but quickly repressed it.

"It looks perfectly fine, sir," she said.

"Are you sure? Because I was thinking it might be better if went and put my wet uniform back on," Jasper said with a laugh.

"I am certain it is fine," she said, again repressing a smile.

"If you say so, then I believe it. But I do hope that there is tablecloth I can hide under," he said, finally getting Sadie to chuckle.

She led him down the hallway and off into a small dining room, where the three Taylors sat waiting for their guest. The table was a square, and easy to fit in the small room. This was not where they did their main entertaining, which led Jasper to believe there was another, grander dining room elsewhere in the house.

They all greeted him as he entered and Mr. Taylor held out a hand pointing to the open chair. The seating arrangement was traditional; Melody sat across from Jasper and Mrs. Taylor sat across from her husband. This was a social design that would prevent them from any inappropriate contact at dinner, and the table's center support leg would ensure that nothing could be done under the table either.

Jasper didn't mind, this though. The high table, cloth, and small room allowed him to be seated without advertising the awkward clothes.

"Major Whitlock," Thomas spoke up, "we thank you for joining us today. It is a pleasure to have an officer in our home. I look forward to learning much from you regarding the war, but I believe we should eat before we are regaled with your stories."

With that, an older black woman wheeled in a cart filled with food. She was older, and obviously the cook. She moved various dished onto the table. Two were filled with fresh vegetables, another with creamed potatoes, and one with…

"Now Major," Thomas asked, "which piece of chicken do you prefer?"

* * *

* Although they may have seemed like disappointing actions at this point in May of 1862, both the Shenandoah Valley and Peninsula Campaigns turned into resounding Confederate victories. In fact, a relatively unknown Robert E. Lee made a name for himself at the Seven Days Battle at the end of the Peninsula Campaign.

** In this case, "Georgian" is used to describe the culture and traditions of the Georgian Era (roughly 1715-1830), which preceded the Victorian Era (1830-1903).

*** Widow's Watch is a flat walk at the top of a 19th century North American house. It is said that wives would pace atop there looking out to sea, searching for their husbands' boats.


	20. Galveston

**A/N: All material is original, except for the Character of Jasper Whitlock, who is intellectual property of S. Mayer. No infringement is intended. Special thanks to my wonderful beta MaleficentKnits who took upon the role of researcher confirming some historical elements for this one. Much love to her!**  
**Also, a special thanks to those of you who review. I would reply if I could, but I do appreciate your comments.  
**

* * *

Thursday, June 5, 1862

The sound of the train running along the iron tracks went suddenly from a loud resonating roar to the hollow sound of metal sliding on metal. Albert Baldwyn noticed the change immediately and sat up from his feigned sleep. He was sitting backwards, facing the rear of the train. Looking out the window where he sat, he saw flat, green land in the distance getting smaller, and the sun was dipping deeply toward the horizon. Directly to his right, he saw water.

_Finally_, he thought to himself. _Finally, I am getting close._

The train was traveling across a low bridge near the water line. A door opened at the end of his car, which he almost ignored until he heard the conductor bellow, "FINAL STOP, GALVESTON, TEXAS! TEN MINUTES!"

It wasn't an angry yell. It was very professional and came across as a necessary evil. It was, however, loud enough to wake the dead even from the depths of hell. It was a roar that Baldwyn didn't particularly care for, but he was secretly a little jealous. It was precisely the way he wanted to affect people when he got angry.

He watched the large conductor squeeze his oversized belly between the occasional passenger as he waddled down the aisle toward the net car.

Reaching down to his right, between his seat and the window, Baldwyn picked up his cane. He acquired it sometime after his adventures along the Mississippi, in a manner that all but he would call theft. This was the full extent of his baggage, as he had rarely had the opportunity to carry a rucksack, much less any luggage, with him. As a result, he presented himself in a most unpleasant manner. Shabby, threadbare wool clothing and dirty from lack of washing opportunities, combined with his limp and asymmetrical missing teeth gave him the look of a vagabond more than a gentleman.

His looks meant little to him, though. Albert Baldwyn was a man with a mission; he sought his vengeance and his bounty. Everything else was secondary to this.

Nine minutes after the conductor lumbered through the car, the train was pulling into the station in Galveston. Passengers' conversation rose from a polite whisper to all out chatter as they collected their belongings and shuffled down the aisle trying to be the first ones off the car.

Baldwyn pulled his watch from his pocket and noted the time. Half past six… There was no need to hurry. Anyone he would need to see would not be available at this time anyway. He would have plenty of time to find a place to sleep for the night and, more importantly, do some reconnaissance on Major Whitlock.

When the last few passengers made their way to the door, Baldwyn rose from his seat and made his own way out of the car. He was more sore and tired than he liked to admit. He only realized this fact because he leaned on his cane more than he should have.

_I can relax for tonight, _he thought, _I'll have work soon enough._

"Porter," Baldwyn called out to a uniformed man on the platform. The man turned with a smile and looked for bags to carry. "I need a jerry house* and a cheap bed," Baldwyn said flatly.

"Yessir," the porter responded, "you will find both a few blocks up on Williams Street."

"Williams Street?"

"Well, it's also called Avenue H, sir," he answered, pointing to the left of the station's exit. "It's just a few blocks away. Look for where it intersects with Thirty-Second or Thirty-Third Avenue."

"Thank you, son," Baldwyn said with a tip of his hat and he turned to limp his way off toward the exit of the depot.

* * *

(Jasper)

Over twenty blocks away, Major Jasper Whitlock was just returning from a frustratingly long meeting with General Hebert. The general had received telegrams that morning regarding the Battle of Seven Pines and, even though it was part of the Peninsular Campaign in eastern Virginia, Hebert felt compelled to discuss it in great detail. Jasper's frustration had been exacerbated by the fact that the battle was a week old.

"There's nothing we can do from here, sir."

"I understand, Whitlock," Hebert had been very tense, "but that's no excuse to let it go. We need to understand all aspects of this war."

"Yes, sir," Jasper responded respectfully, "but this information is a week old, would it not be more prudent to request an update before we attempt to digest the situation fully?"

What was worst about their meeting was that Jasper, for the first time, had withheld information from the general. He reviewed the telegram in his head:

JOHNSTON INJURED; LEE PROMOTED CMDR ARMY NOVA.**

"No sir," Jasper had said, "I've never heard of Lee before. I know nothing about him."

The lie was easier than the truth. Jasper had heard of Robert Lee before. He had shared a campsite with a man who had talked about his experience with General Lee. The man had spoken of Lee's incompetence.

_Of course, _Jasper reasoned, _he also stole my money. It's doubtful he was trustworthy in the first place_.

This logic made him feel better about the lie. In fact it was less of a lie and more of an omission. Moreover, he knew that such information would only stress the general further, which was not necessary. If the change was a week old, then Lee's competence, or lack thereof, would have likely already manifested itself.

At the close of their meeting, Jasper could not seem to shake the meeting from his mind. There was something that bothered him about the constant strategizing that Hebert was so intent on doing. Perhaps, there was something more to his planning than he knew.

Agitated as he was, Jasper opted against going downstairs for a whiskey. Instead, he went straight to his quarters, where he rummaged through the few books that he had acquired since returning to Galveston. Each book was academic in nature. Amid the various titles was one that Captain Jacobs had given him. It was an old textbook he had used at West Point. Jasper had charisma and natural leadership. Moreover, his prowess on the battlefield was unquestionable, but he still lacked the formal education of military theory.

Removing the book from his shelf, Jasper laid himself on his bed and opened the text, looking for some answer he did not know he needed. Still, there had to be something he was missing if Hebert was so concerned about eastern Virginia.

Jasper remained there, studying until his light expired with the setting of the summer sun.

* * *

(Albert)

About that same time, the Mississippi Home Guardsman was returning to his room, with a woman. He had hoped to find iron hand cuffs in order to restrain Whitlock on the journey home. However, the jerry house seemed to have everything but this.

_No matter_, he thought, _I can use rope just as well_. So he purchased a length of rope and decided to blow the rest on a hooker he met on the street near his hotel.

Albert Baldwyn arose early the next morning as usual. He dressed in his freshly cleaned clothes and gathered his few belongings. The blonde whore, whose name he never bothered to remember, was still asleep. So he crept out of the room without waking her, much less paying her for services rendered. He had a policy never to part with money he didn't have to. Yet this did not prevent him from stopping at the front desk.

"Sweet Patricia was sleeping so well after our rather vigorous evening that I could not bring myself to wake her," he lied to the clerk. "I want to let her sleep as long she needs."

"Yes sir," the clerk answered. "When can we expect you back?"

"Me?" Baldwyn asked with surprise. "I will complete my affairs today and will be on an evening train back to Houston. I left her a note with money for the bill and gratuity with her upstairs. She will pay for all when she leaves."

"Yes, sir," the clerk said again, the he added with a smile, "Be sure to remember us the next time your business brings you to Galveston."

Baldwyn nodded and walked out the front door and into the mid-morning sun. He felt more than refreshed than he had felt in longer than he could remember. However, he was not sure if this feeling was result of a good night's sleep and a cold beer, or the thought that he would be leaving that very afternoon with Major Jasper Whitlock in tow as a deserter.

He walked with almost no limp and he dangled his cane more than he leaned upon it, but he still refused to go without it. The summer sun had risen well ahead of him and shade was hard to find. Even though he was from Mississippi, the Texas weather on the coast proved to be hotter than he expected, especially this early in the morning. It was, however, far less humid than he expected there on the coast.

Baldwyn ignored the bustle of horses and carts through the streets, but could not help but to be surprised by all of the people on the streets and sidewalks. This was easily the largest city he had ever visited, both in size and population.

He had planned for a ten-minute walk to go more than twenty blocks to meet General Hebert in his office, but it had taken him nearly half an hour. He was rather relieved to arrive at the hotel. Not one to stand on ceremony, Baldwyn immediately entered the hotel and went straight for the front desk.

"Where can I find General Hebert?" he demanded of the clerk.

"All military offices are found in the second floor suites, sir," said Daniel, the usual morning clerk. "But if I may say, sir, they do not usually entertain civilian guests. Are you on official business?"

"My business if none of yours," Baldwyn spat as he turned for the staircase, more quickly than anyone would have expected to see a man with a cane move.

"Sir… SIR," Daniel shouted after him, but Albert ignored the calls.

Baldwyn charged for the grand staircase, taking steps two at a time. At the top he looked both ways down the hallway, saw the only real movement to his right, and he was off. Daniel had not even made his way to the top of the stairwell before Baldwyn was in the reception room of the General's office suite. He slammed the door, locking it behind him.

"What's the big idea," the sergeant ordered as he stood, as much in shock as anything else.

"Where's the general's office?" Baldwyn said urgently

"It is where it is, and you will only see the general when you have both business and an appointment!" Sergeant McAdams answered firmly.

"Well you, sir, happen to be in luck," he said smugly, stepping toward the sergeant's desk. "I have both."

"You are mistaken, and you shall take your leave," McAdams said in a voice which left no doubt he was not going to allow this man into the general's office. This made Baldwyn's anger swell up within himself, but he was determined to resolve this civilly. At least that was his plan until the banging started on the door.

"SERGEANT, I TRIED TO STOP HIM," shouted Daniel the desk clerk. "OPEN THE DOOR AND I WILL HAVE HIM ESCORTED FROM THE BUILDING!"

McAdams wasted no time and moved around the desk and closed the distance on the intruder.

"Just let me speak with Hebert, and I assure you all will be resolved," Baldwyn said loudly to be heard over the banging.

He cowered slightly from the advancing sergeant, who was almost an arm's length away. Then Baldwyn unleashed the full fury of his cane. In a flurry of blurred strokes, he felled the sergeant with a strike to his left knee and placed him firmly on the ground with another hit to the man's back. McAdams roared with pain.

"What in God's holy name is going on out here?" demanded General Hebert.

He had opened his office door to see the stranger prepared to hit the defenseless sergeant, who was writhing on the office floor. The outer door to the hall was still rattling with each hit from the desk clerk.

"General Hebert, sir," Baldwyn said quite respectfully, and composing himself surprisingly quickly. "I have a matter of pressing importance to discuss with you. Alas, this ruffian was attempting to stop me from my charge."

Hebert quickly assessed the situation and, without saying a word, walked across the room to check on McAdams. Looking him over, he saw no blood, and whispered a few words to comfort him. The general then stood and opened the door.

"Ah," he said with a feigned surprise. "Daniel, call upon a doctor for Sergeant McAdams. It seems that I have a pressing matter to deal with presently." He turned to the stranger, and said flatly, "follow me."

He walked into his office and sat in his chair behind his desk. Baldwyn followed him into the office, and stopped upon entering. He looked around and was rather impressed at both the size and grandeur of the office.

"If you please," Hebert drawled, holding out a hand inviting his guest to have a seat opposite him.

Baldwyn shut the door and strode confidently over to the chair.

"Now General, it is…" he began before being cut off.

"Now, you listen here," Hebert interrupted. "You have all but forced yourself into this hotel and office, you assaulted Sergeant McAdams, and I have given you the benefit of the doubt." His voice was firm and filled with a gravity that removed any doubt of his seriousness. "You had better have a damn good reason for this intrusion."

"Well, that certainly does change the landscape," he said. "I am Albert Baldwyn of the Mississippi Home Guard, and I am here with the charge to capture and return a man who fled his post. I have followed him hundreds of miles and across three states. This coward is likely hiding within your ranks, seeking refuge as a common soldier."

Hebert sat listening silently without giving any indication what he thought.

"His gross negligence and dereliction of duty cost many lives in an important battle," Baldwyn continued.

Still, Hebert gave no reaction.

"I am here seeking your help in locating this escapee," Baldwyn's tone was still accusatory.

Hebert took a deep breath to calm himself before speaking. "Do you have a name?"

"Certainly, General," he sneered, "Major Jasper Whitlock. For all I know, he could be hiding as a private or a new volunteer. He's likely changed his name…."

Baldwyn continued talking, but Hebert was not listening. He started rifling through his desk. He went through various drawers before finally pulling out a single sheet of paper.

"I s'pose, you gon' tell me this Whitlock fellow you speak of," Hebert had slipped into his full creole accent, "failed at a place called Shiloh?"

"That's correct. Do you know him?"

"Let me start at the beginning," Hebert stood and walked around to the front of his desk, where he sat on the edge, right in front of Baldwyn. "Firstly, you are from the _Mis'sippi Home Guard_. As you are not from Texas you have no authority here. Secondly, even if you were from the Texas Home Guard, I would require more than your _word_ that this man run away from his duty. Thirdly," Hebert slowed down as if to be heard more clearly, "Major Whitlock's valor has been commended by none other than Beauregard himself," he threw Beauregard's letter praising Jasper at Baldwyn. "Lastly, I know Major Whitlok quite well, and I like to consider myself a decent judge of character. I can say without reserve that he is no more hidin' than you are gimp."

With this last accusation, Hebert reached down and seized the cane. Baldwyn jumped up and stood toe to toe with the General, his chin nearly meeting Hebert's nose. Baldwyn was trying to use his height advantage to intimidate the General.

"Now you listen carefully, b'cause I shall make this offer but once," Hebert's full wrath was visible in his eyes as well as voice. "You will leave here and ne'er return. And if you should be so bold as to return with this accusation again, I shall rain down a world of sorrow you have yet to experience."

Baldwyn stood there for a moment, weighing his options and debating the full measure of the threat that had just been placed before him.

Another moment of silence ticked away between the two men.

Baldwyn then held out his hand. "My cane," he demanded.

"You wield this as a weapon and I shall treat it as such. I will deliver it to the depot prior to your departure. Until then, your right to carry a weapon in this city is revoked… and if you don't like it, complain to the governor"

"You think I won't!" he bellowed.

"I expect it," Hebert smiled. "He'll be here in this very office for dinner next week if you plan to stay that long, but I pray you are smart enough to depart much sooner."

Baldwyn was livid. It was exceptionally rare that he did not find a way to get what he wanted. This was, however, one of those situations in which he saw no escape except to tuck his tail and walk away. He knew he would have his chance, but this was not the day.

He turned with a grunt of frustration and stomped toward the door. Opening it, he turned back for one last look and experienced something that he had not in longer than he could remember: fear. The glare in Hebert's eyes had not left, and all he could see was the same rage that he felt. For one brief moment Baldwyn realized that he may have just met his match.

He left and slammed the door behind him. McAdams was still on the floor, but sitting up.

"Try being a real soldier and not just a coward hiding behind a desk," Baldwyn spat as he stepped around the sergeant and out the door.

In the hall he passed by the desk clerk and an older man carrying a doctor's bag. He sneered at the clerk, intimidating him so badly that the man took a step sideways in order to allow more distance between them as they passed.

Down the staircase he plodded. He could feel his own pulse race as his blood pumped with anger. He stopped briefly in the lobby to take one more look around. He knew he would have to return here at some point, and wanted one more look at the lay of the hotel. There was an empty ballroom on one side, which may be helpful depending on the event. On the other side was a dining room. This could prove most advantageous since a meal is always an acceptable excuse to return to the hotel. Baldwyn was already plotting in his head when he saw something that surprised him so much, he completely forgot his anger: Jasper Whitlock was sitting down in the dining room!

He was at a table on the far side of the room, one row away from the wall. He was accompanied by a young woman with black hair whose face he could not see as she was turned, facing Whitlock. Jasper was facing the front the main entrance, but he was unlikely to notice him since his attention was completely devoted to his guest.

* * *

(Jasper)

Jasper Whitlock had stolen himself away from his barracks inspections to enjoy a late breakfast with Melody. He had made this breakfast date earlier in the week, hoping to avoid another "fried chicken" style test from Melody's father. He had also planned it very carefully so that he could squeeze it into his day, but had also hoped to avoid asking permission or drawing the general's attention since this would not be an approved while on duty. It was a risky date, but Melody was worth it to him.

Jasper had picked a table on the far side of the room, and near the wall. A corner table would have drawn more attention. Moreover, the table he picked was only visible from one part of the lobby, and even then one would have to stop and look inside to find them.

Jasper and Melody had already eaten and were sitting there simply enjoying each others company. Jasper had just finished telling her a story about how his brother had once managed to hide Jasper's clothes, and he had to walk three miles home… naked. She laughed harder at that story more than he had anticipated and, to be honest, it made him happier than he had anticipated.

Then, suddenly, in the midst of that euphoria came an intense feeling of hatred and anger. Jasper immediately looked around and saw a man coming toward his table with pure unadulterated rage in his eyes. There was something familiar about this man, but Jasper could not figure out what it was.

Melody saw his drastic shift in demeanor and became very concerned, if not scared.

"Major Whitlock," said the stranger with seething animosity dripping from every word spoke as he stepped up to their table. "I have followed your sorry ass for too long, and now I finally have you.

"Have me?" Jasper remained cool, and sat back in his chair. "Sir, while you are familiar, I must admit my ignorance as to your name."

"I know you ain't too bright, but even a dumb bastard like you should remember what you did to me," Baldwyn scowled.

"I apologize if I have caused some harm to come upon you. Let me treat you to a coffee while we discuss our grievances," Jasper raised his hand to call the waiter over.

"If I do anythin' with you, I'm gonna whip your ass then arrest you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna drink your coffee."

"Now I have tried to be polite, sir, but I tell you that is the last obscene word you will use in Miss Taylor's presence," he nodded his head toward Melody. Jasper stayed cool, but now had an air of authority in his voice that bordered on threatening.

"Goddamn officers, think you can tell ev'one what to do!"

Melody spoke up with clear nervousness in her voice. "I think my time is spent, Major," she said and stood up to depart.

"You ain't goin' no where… you gon' see what kinda man you got here," Baldwyn reached over and shoved her back into her seat with his right hand.

Faster than Baldwyn could react, Jasper stood and grabbed the stranger's wrist. Baldwyn in turn, reached over with his left hand and grabbed the hand holding his wrist. This exposed his back, which Jasper expected. Whitlock took a hold of the man's coat and shoved his body onto the table.

The crack of the man's chin on the table echoed throughout the dining room, and turned all eyes their way. Gawkers saw Jasper take the hem of the stunned man's coat, pull it up over his head as his other hand pulled a knife out of a sheath on his belt. He instantly stabbed the overcoat, nailing it to the table. Spinning around the table, he then kicked the man's legs out from under him, which left the man dangling and defenseless.

"I warned you once, but you then you had to go and be stupid," Jasper said with his own share of anger. "I believe you owe the lady an apology."

_Hmph… _came an indistinguishable sound from the lump hanging off the table.

"That wasn't very clear," Jasper said before stepping on the man's ankle, twisting it painfully sideways bringing a shout from him. "Her name is Miss Taylor."

"I'm very sorry Miss Taylor. I was out of line." The words were garbled as though he was speaking while drinking. Jasper knew the man was bleeding, and he didn't want Melody to see this.

Taking command, he looked around to assess the entire situation. There was a small crowd gathered, mostly guests who were attempting to enjoy a mid-morning brunch. In the back, he saw a uniformed enlisted man.

"Corporal," Jasper called, "take Miss Taylor to Captain Jacobs, and tell him to escort her home."

"But Major," Melody protested immediately.

"Please," Jasper said, "I do not know what this is regarding, but for some reason this man thinks I have caused him offense grievous enough to resort to threatening you. I will not have that."

"Major Whitlock, Jasper," she pleaded. It was the first time she had ever addressed him by his given name, which got his attention.

"What is it?" he asked patiently.

"Have you dishonored or offended this man?" Melody asked simply.

"Not intentionally," Jasper answered calmly and bluntly. "Any misunderstanding will be resolved posthaste."

He could tell this answer calmed her.

"Then there is no need for an escort. I shall find my own way home." Melody was indeed calm and excused herself.

Jasper watched for her departure before addressing the audience. He spoke calmly, but sternly. "There is nothing to concern yourselves with. This is official Confederate business." As much as he wanted to, not even Jasper could believe this excuse.

"Okay, I am about to help you up," Jasper said turning back to the lump on the table. "Please do not do anything foolish. I hope we can be civilized henceforth."

The lump groaned and muttered something that sounded like a physical improbability involving a particular farm animal. Jasper could tell this would not be a civilized or rational discussion, but he was too curious to figure out who this man was and what the situation was all about.

He reached over the man yanked the knife out of table and the man plopped to the floor. There was a small puddle of blood on the table, with a stripe of red smeared across to the edge where he rolled off. Jasper looked down at the lump of man on the floor. He was motionless, more as a result of humiliation than anything else.

"May I offer you a hand, sir?" Jasper asked politely and extending his hand.

In a flurry of fabric, the man flipped the coat off from over his head and he forced himself up.

"Don't dare touch me, b'fore I really have to hurt you."

"Well, I daresay it is not the civilized approach, so I shall try again," Jasper said casually. He pulled out a chair from the table and offered it to the stranger standing before him. He then sat in the chair next to the one he pulled out, but turned it to face the man directly.

"You truly don't remember me?"

"Your face is familiar, but the context eludes me."

"Bastard," he breathed as if not wanting to be heard. "I am Albert Baldwyn, and you have cost me wages and interfered in my duties for the great State of Mississippi."

"Truly?" Jasper said with genuine surprise. "Pray tell, Mr. Baldwyn, did my offense from Mississippi come to track me all the way to Texas?"

"I have been searching for you since Booneville," Baldwyn said as he wiped his arm across his mouth, clearing some blood.

"Booneville?"

"There you were a guest with the Fields," he blurted.

"The Fields?" Jasper asked with genuine surprise. Then it all came rushing back to him. He remembered the man he had stopped from abusing the runaway soldier. It was the man who had beaten that soldier, put him in a sack, and drug him along a road.

"You remember now, don't you?" Baldwyn goaded, with a smile.

"Yes I do recall you now," Jasper said slowly, as if reminiscing." Yet somehow you have managed to track me hundreds of miles in… about 8 weeks is it? For what purpose? What great offense have I caused you?"

"It don't matter how long it took. I got you now, and you goin' back to answer for what you done to me!" the rage was seeping back into Baldwyn's voice.

"MAJOR WHITLOCK," General Hebert shouted as he entered the dining room.

Whitlock and Baldwyn both turned to see the general coming their way. His near purple face was painted with absolute fury. Jasper snapped to attention, but caught the general's eye. He was confident he had never seen him this angry before.

"You are still here," Hebert said to Baldwyn. "Am I correct to assume that you are causing trouble without so much as a train ticket in hand?"

Baldwyn grunted.

"Whitlock, I shall deal with you later. My office…1800 hours," he ordered.

"Yes sir."

"Dismissed," he said to Jasper, who saluted and immediately left the room. Hebert then turned to Albert. "Trouble seems to be your companion. I expect you out of this city by nightfall. If not you will find yourself in a brig before you even realize what happened."

"You ain't no god, you jes' a general!" Baldwyn shouted.

"Right now, you had better wish I was God because He will show you more mercy than I will," Hebert shot back.

"I still ain't scared of you," Baldwyn said slightly more reserved. "I can bide my time, but I will get my business done."

"That is all well and good, but I am sure you have more important things to do than fight this war from within. Go home to Mississippi, where you have jurisdiction and possibly someone who cares. Here in Galveston, you will find neither."

At this point, the home guardsman finally stopped grousing. He was still incensed, but saw no point in arguing. He rose to his feet muttering something incoherent, but what could only be interpreted as not-so-veiled threats. The general watched him with a gravely serious glare until Baldwyn reached the door.

"Whitlock!" Baldwyn shouted in the lobby, "You ain't gonna hide behind that man's stars*** forever!"

Albert Baldwyn finally took his leave, turning to exit the Hotel. He had no intention of leaving. He had followed Whitlock this long and finally had him close. For now, he just needed time to think and plan. There was no way in hell he intended to leave empty handed.

* * *

*jerry house – this is essentially a pawn shop. The term was routinely used in Britain at this time, and while it was possible and occasionally heard in the United States, it was not a common expression.

**ARMY NOVA – in this case, is short for the Army of Northern (NO) Virginia (VA).

***All Confederate generals wore an insignia of three stars.


	21. Dinner with the General

**A/N: This was originally designed to be an outtake, but it morphed into something more than expected. I am glad to update within a fortnight of my last one, and please know that I have already started on the next chapter. As always, I express my undying love and appreciation for MaleficentKnits, my wonderful beta. Also, please note that Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer, the hot sauce belongs to the McIlhenney family, and everything else belongs to me. **

* * *

June 6, 1862

Jasper was in his room reading when he checked his pocket watch. 17:57 hours. It was time to leave his room and appear at General Hebert's office as ordered. He stood up from his desk, but did not close the book he was reading. He anticipated wanting to sink back into its pages following the discipline he was about to face for his actions that morning.

He exited his quarters and stared down the hallway before closing the door behind him. It was not a particularly large hotel, but at the moment the hall seemed unusually long to him. He didn't need three minutes to walk it, but Jasper made a habit of being early to any appointment.

He could hear general noises and bustling wafting up the grand staircase, but the second floor corridor was clear. This was to be expected. It was a Friday evening, and most of the men were taking the evening off. The one thing Jasper knew was that this was not the way he wanted to spend his Friday evening. He had hoped to call upon Miss Taylor. However, after what happened that morning he was sure that Mr. Taylor would be far more hesitant to accept his company.

Jasper arrived at the general's ante-chamber and entered without knocking.

Looking around, he saw the room was not only empty, but very dark. The lamps had been extinguished and the room did not have any windows. In fact, the only light came from the general's open door on the far side of the reception office.

"Major Whitlock reporting as ordered," Jasper called out to the open door.

"Whitlock. Enter!" Hebert called from the adjacent office.

Jasper entered to see a bright office, with windows open and a light breeze crossing the room, and the general sitting at his desk. There was, however, one thing quite out of place in the room. The map table had been moved from its usual spot below the west window to the center of the room. Not only had it been cleared but it had been set for two; beside the table stood a cart with various serving trays.

"Jasper," Hebert said pointing at the table, "please have a seat."

The general spoke in a voice more calm and pleasant Jasper liked. Moreover, he could not recall a single time that Hebert had called him by his given name. Nonetheless, Jasper did as he was ordered and after a brief moment, Hebert signed the paper he had been reading, folded it into thirds, before standing and joining Jasper at the table.

"I realized today," the general began, "you have been here as my second in command for more than a month and we have yet to meet in a casual setting. The time to remedy that is nigh."

"Thank you, sir," Jasper began, but he trailed off.

"Do not be so formal this evening, Jasper. What is on your mind?"

Jasper hesitated. He was truly taken aback from this highly unexpected turn of events. He saw himself standing at attention while being excoriated.

"Well, sir, I did not expect dinner."

"It is still early, son, do not tell me you already ate."

"Of course not, sir," Jasper said. Then, not wanting to waste time, he spoke directly and firmly. "Honestly, I expected a formal discussion and reproach for my actions this morning."

"All in due time," Hebert said, taking a sip of what appeared to be buttermilk before uncovering a serving plate of fish. "However, I do believe that we should partake while this fine meal is still hot. I myself, was hoping for gumbo, but no one here seems to be able to get it right."

Jasper chuckled, although he did not know what gumbo was. That must have been a Louisiana dish with which he was not familiar. He followed the general's example and served himself from the cart. The fried fish had been served with a spicy wild rice, okra, and corn. He also had a choice of breads, and opted for the corn bread over the hushpuppies.

"This is quite a feast, sir. I thank you."

"No, this is acceptable," the general chuckled. "If you care to truly feast, try some of this."

Hebert procured what appeared to be a small perfume bottle from his coat pocket. It was a clear bottle, but filled with a curious red liquid. The general added a few drops to each food on his plate before offering it to Jasper, who accepted the bottle with a little apprehension. Hebert watched him with a wry smile on his face.

"Do not be afraid, Major, it's not arsenic."

Still a bit unsure, Jasper put a couple of drops on his rice and tasted a little bit of it. Jasper's mouth exploded with a heat that he had not felt in years. He had not been prepared for that much heat and flavor to be packed into such a small amount of sauce. Apparently he had made some odd face because the general started laughing.

"That is what usually happens," he said. "Most people cannot seem to handle it, but you seem more surprised than anything else."

"Truly, sir, I am surprised."

"Not to worry," Hebert said, reaching for the bottle.

"If I may, sir, I would like to have some more." Jasper was not trying to impress or to prove anything. He honestly liked the hot sauce, but had not been prepared for something that powerful, much less, coming from a perfume bottle.

"Certainly," the general answered leaning back in his chair.

"I have eaten spicy foods, but I do not recognize the flavor," Jasper said honestly.

"This is a curious sample from a friend of mine back in Louisiana. He's a fellow from Maryland who moved south twenty years ago if it's been a day… a fellow named McIlhenny. He's been cooking up sauces like this for a couple of years now. This is something called a Tabasco* pepper."

The two men continued to talk and chat while they ate. Each man learned a lot about the other and, if it was actually possible, they may well have grown to a better understanding of how to work together.

After they had eaten, Hebert got up and retrieved a couple of cigars from a humidor on his desk. He offered one to Jasper, who readily accepted it. Jasper could not abide cigarettes, but he did enjoy a quality cigar. Unfortunately, his opportunities to enjoy them were exceptionally limited due to cost and availability.

Once they had enjoyed a few puffs of their cigars, General Hebert finally got down to business.

"Tell me about this Baldwyn character," he said very matter-of-factly.

"In all honestly, sir, there is not much to tell."

Jasper was telling the truth. In his mind he had committed no offense and did not know why this man had tracked him across three states. Jasper could tell the general was not convinced. He was certain that it was because of his facial expressions while he spoke. The sun was low in the sky, but not setting. It was, however, shining right in Jasper's face through the window, which made him squint in an awkward fashion. In spite of this, Jasper was not the kind of guy who offered excuses.

"We had a disagreement, months ago right after Shiloh. He had done his job. He captured a runaway soldier and attempted to return him for the bounty offered for any fleeing soldier."

The general was already engrossed in the story, even though it had just begun.

"The problem was," Jasper continued, "he did not just capture him. He did things to that poor man. He abused him; he beat him; he even shoved him into sack and drug him behind his horse."

Jasper went on to explain how he saved the soldier and, with the help of the Fields family, ensured the man's health was protected. Jasper also added that until that very morning, he had no idea that the man was following him. Hebert asked a few questions along the way, but one thing was very apparent; Jasper knew nothing about Albert Baldwyn other than the fact that they had a brief encounter.

"Whatever the reason," Hebert added, "he is convinced that you have injured him. He attempted to convince me you shirked your responsibility and were singly responsible for the loss up at Shiloh."

"Do you believe that is true?"

"If I know anything, it is that Mr. Baldwyn has no concept of honesty or decency. What I do not know why he is here or what he will do next."

"You do not believe that he is going to leave, do you?"

Hebert shook his head.

"I determined the same thing," Jasper added quickly. "I also believe the man to be dangerous, that much is clear. I think he is most appropriately compared to a wild animal. He will be most dangerous if he feels cornered or threatened."

"I would certainly concur," Hebert said after blowing out a mouthful of cigar smoke. "Now the question becomes, how do we handle a man like this? What would you do, Whitlock?"

"The answer is clear," Jasper said without hesitation. "We must catch him the next time he comes into town, but we cannot hunt him down… he's not the kind of guy who will make a careless mistake when tracked."

Hebert nodded in agreement with a wry smile on his face.

"The biggest problem is going to be that we do not know when or where he will appear," Jasper continued.

"True," the general said quietly. "So how do we trap him?"

"Simple," Jasper answered. "We know that I will be his target. Now, I have some ideas, but I doubt many of them would meet your approval, sir."

"Do not be so certain of that. So far you have followed my exact thought and logic. What would I do next?"

Jasper knew that the general already had his plan, but was attempting to teach Jasper. In one of his few flaws, he underestimated Jasper's ability to strategize.

"Sir, word of this has most assuredly spread throughout the ranks. This is something that should be neither confirmed nor denied. We should bring in one more officer, who has enlisted men at his disposal. He can watch the bait and spring the trap once Baldwyn makes his move."

"Naturally two questions ensue," Hebert started.

"Captain Jacobs," Jasper shot out, guessing the first question. "Jacobs and I have developed a certain rapport, so it would not seem out of place to anyone in particular."

"Very good," Hebert said with a smile and a slight nod. "Now for the next question."

Jasper sat silently for a moment. He had a couple of different ideas and simply did not know what the next question was.

"How do we do this without interrupting our normal activities and responsibilities?" Hebert finally asked.

"This is a tough question, but first I would propose that we make no adjustments."

"And if that fails to work, Major?"

"Then we go on a training bivouac."

"What are the advantages to each?" Hebert asked.

"In each case, I am assuming Baldwyn will make a move. In the first case, he will think that we do not take him seriously. He will be able to strike whenever he believes his chances are best. If we fail to elicit a reaction, then a training mission will serve two purposes. Firstly, it will be out of the city, which could be a reason not to act. Secondly, it would afford him easier access to me outside of the inherent safety I find here in the hotel."

"Whitlock, I must admit that you have an incredible mind for strategy."

"Thank you, sir."

"I want you to get Jacobs in here tomorrow morning. I will brief him alone. You can enjoy your Saturday."

With a plan in place, the general opened a twenty-three year old bottle of scotch, and the two men shifted their conversation to more trivial matters. By the time he returned to his room, Jasper was in no condition to continue reading the book he left out.

* * *

*While there is no evidence that General Hebert knew or even had any connection to Edmund McIlhenny, their time lines and geography do cross. Although Tabasco Sauce did not go on sale commercially until 1868 (after the war ended) this was well within the time frame that Edmund McIlhenny was mixing and testing his sauce, as well as giving it to friends and family.


	22. The Invitation

**A/N: Much love to one and all. I promise your patience will be rewarded. Happy belated birthday to Brazos! I was not able to get this posted in time for your birthday, so I decided to write an outtake from this chapter just for you! I hope it compensates for my tardiness. The first paragraph belongs to history, Major Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Mayer, and everything else belongs to my imagination. No copyright infringement intended. I could not do this without the wonderful help I get from the incomparable MaleficentKnits and a gracious appreciation for WuogKat as well. They are wonderful betas who are better than I deserve.**

* * *

June 20, 1862

The next two weeks passed as uneventfully as imaginable during a war. The greatest news locally was how the weather was so unusually hot and far more humid than normal for a coastal city. This overshadowed most all other news because Texas remained on the outskirts of all the battles and skirmishes that were occurring throughout the rest of the Confederacy. The political world was abuzz with reports in various newspapers discussing how Georgia's Governor Joseph Brown had challenged President Jefferson Davis' authority, based upon his interpretation of executive authorities present within a confederation. Editors of several newspapers were calling this the wrong action to take in a time of war. Even Florida's governor addressed it in his State of the State* speech, essentially questioning Brown's loyalty to the cause of States' Rights. In his defense, Brown argued that if secession was based upon States' Rights, then the CSA should be practicing it, rather than bowing before the quasi-federal alter Davis was building in Richmond. This brewing political battle was even fought in the seeming confederate stronghold of North Carolina, where voters ousted a Davis-supporting governor in favor of Zebulon Vance, who had become an ideological thorn in the central government's side.

General Hebert was reading all of this, and sharing his thoughts with Jasper on a regular basis. Such political bickering and machinations were not his concern, but he recognized as an officer he would eventually be sucked into this seedy world.

Socially, Jasper's life had become more difficult. Mr. Taylor had forbidden Melody to spend any time with Jasper since the incident with Baldwyn. His concerns were well founded, and Jasper did not fault him. It is natural for a father to protect his only daughter. What Jasper could not understand was Mr. Taylor's refusal to meet with him. Twice Jasper went to the Taylor estate, only to be sent away without so much as an explanation. So Jasper sent a written request, seeking audience to discuss his courtship.

"_I doubt not your sincerity of purpose, nor your character," _Mr. Taylor had written in response._ "Indeed, I consider your personal traits to be exemplary. However, as a husband and a father I cannot allow any member of my family to entertain anyone who bears a target on his back or a price on his head. I have, of course, been assured that any and all accusations against you are unfounded. While I appreciate this knowledge and take solace in knowing my judgment of your character is not unfounded, it does not change the grave reality of the situation. The fact remains, an unjust man is seeking to do you harm without consideration of innocents who may be in your presence."_

It was a sad truth. The emotion was true and the logic was sound.

To make it even harder on him, Melody had not sent him a note or message of any kind. She had done so once in the past, and Jasper had been hoping she would do so again. However, after two weeks, Jasper had resolved that he would take one more chance. The monthly ball was approaching and he was confident he would see her there. There he would find a way to approach her and find out if his thoughts and emotions were founded or not.

These emotions clouded his otherwise clear train of thought. He reasoned this was why he spent so much time focusing on the military aspects of his duty. It was clear and questionless. Jasper found himself absorbing every detail he could read about the Peninsula Campaign, which was the largest, recent engagement of the war. Lee's value as a general had risen, but Jasper was now learning about a cavalry officer named J.E.B. Stuart whose leadership and bravado had made a tremendous impact on the campaign.

Jasper secretly wished he had the opportunity to return to the field. While he thoroughly enjoyed his position with Hebert, he absolutely loved training the enlisted men and junior officers. However, in spite of this, there was the desire to observe actions in the field. There was this inexplicable urge to see combat in all of its horrible glory. It was a giant chess match where opponents made their plays simultaneously. Thanks to his protégé, Jasper had been able to study more of the technical aspects of battle than he ever had before. At times, he found himself thinking back to Shiloh, replaying the events of that second day over in his head, wondering if any of his new knowledge would have made a difference.

Then, everything changed the day before the ball.

"Major Whitlock," called a bell hop as Jasper walked back into the hotel returning from the barracks about midday.

"Yes?" he replied, turning around.

"Message for you sir," the boy, no more than twelve, said holding up a note.

"Thank you," Jasper answered, trading a coin he had fished from his pocket for the envelope.

He looked it over. It was a single sheet of paper, folded into thirds, bearing a red wax seal. Jasper saw the large, ornate "T" on the seal and knew it had to be from Melody. Quickly he opened the letter and read it while still standing in the middle of the hotel's lobby.

_Major Whitlock,_

_I request the honor of your presence and possible escort tomorrow evening. We shall anticipate your arrival by 6:00 in the evening. Respond only if you need to cancel. _

It was signed by Mr. Taylor, which did surprise Jasper, but it did not bother him. He recognized that he had been a little too eager to hear from Melody. Nonetheless, it was clear that her father was warming up to him. That was the important thing.

Jasper stuffed the envelope into his breast pocket and went up the stairs to the second-floor office for his weekly meeting with General Hebert.

"Major Whitlock, I am amazed at the squabbles that are coming up now," Hebert said looking up from a newspaper as Jasper entered the room. "Now Virginia's governor is contradicting himself. He says that Georgia's Brown is right in his assessment of executive authorities, but says we do not need to deal with such ideological issues until after we have won this war."

"Is that so, sir?" Jasper lamented more than he asked. His tone of voice was more obvious than he had intended.

"Am I correct to assume that you have other issues on your mind?"

"Not at all sir," Jasper said unconvincingly.

"McAdams!" Hebert called as he put the newspaper down on an almost empty plate. The sergeant appeared in the doorway a moment later. The general pointed to the plate and stood, beckoning Jasper over to the window where he kept his maps and logistical information on permanent display. McAdams dutifully bussed the general's dishes, as though it were actually his job.

"Whitlock, I'm sure it is no surprise that news is slow and silent here," Hebert said with exasperation. "The Yankees still control the southern Mississippi, which slows down any shipments we can make." He pointed to various locations on the map as he spoke. "Now, we have reports of increased Union ships around the Gulf, which is why our blockade runners are coming less frequently."

"The natural question, General, is whether or not they are able to dock in Mexico and send them north from there," Jasper said.

"It's a good idea, but it will not happen," Hebert sighed. "This damned blockade is watching for that very thing. On top of which, there are still too many Mexicans who remember and resent the loss of Texas, California, and the southwestern territories. Finding a friendly importer is harder than running the blockade."

"General," Jasper said looking at some other documents lying on the table. "These are not just schooners and fast ships. Looking at these reports, there is some significant firepower on the water."

"Your point?"

"Could this be in preparation for a land invasion?"

"Hmmmm," Hebert sighed, very clearly pondering this option. He leaned over and traced his finger over marks on the map indicating ships. He pointed to various places and positions. "Where would they target? They already control New Orleans and parts of the Mississippi."

"Well," Jasper said immediately, "process of elimination leaves two possibilities."

"Explain."

"New Orleans is taken, as is Baton Rouge. I do not know how much more they have north of that, but I know that Natchez is still free," Jasper explained pointing out these places on the map as he addressed them. "Strategically, that is fine for now as controlling Baton Rouge eliminates our use of the railroad. However, they still need to get more of the river. Taking Natchez would be a major victory for them, but ideally they need to get up to Vicksburg. That would be the death knell of our ability to supply the Eastern Theater.

"Florida is a complete non-factor," Jasper continued still pointing to each location on the map. "Gulf Port is still too small to be significant enough to spend the resources and lives necessary to take it. Corpus Christie is too far south and only has access to one railroad. However, Houston is the major railroad terminus between the Texas ports and the Eastern Theater. The only way in is through Galveston Harbor."

"So you believe there is a 50-50 chance we are directly in Union sights?"

"Personally, sir, looking at the ships they have brought in, I believe our odds to be attacked are far greater."

Hebert looked at him, but said nothing.

"They have a lot of firepower," Jasper continued, "but no landing craft. Sure they could take Galveston, but to what end? They need to control access to the bay. If they can get in close enough to Goose Creek** the bridge would be more than vulnerable. Of course they need to control more of the river than they do, but removing our ability to move troops and supplies makes a subsequent land invasion significantly easier."

"So we defend with two batteries; one on Pelican Island and another on the southern tip of Bolivar."***

"I would recommend a third, actually," Jasper added. "A third battery on northernmost point of Galveston would be a great addition."

"Do you think we could secure Mr. Taylor's blessing for that?"

"As it so happens," Jasper said, "I will be visiting him tomorrow and I could broach the topic. However, I do believe you have the authority to place those guns with or without his permission."

"I do," Hebert said, standing upright again, "but I prefer to work in a gentlemanly manner if possible."

"Of course, sir," Jasper said with a smile. "Shall I submit a requisition for the additional cannons and field guns we shall need?"

"Please do so, Major," Hebert said, turning back toward his desk. "But first I would like to discuss a couple of items pursuant to your inspections this morning."

Jasper followed, and the two men continued discussion operations and various other items of necessity and interest to their military duties. Eventually, they digressed to other, more light hearted topics; this would not usually occur between a commanding officer and his subordinates, but Hebert and Whitlock did not have a typical commanding officer/adjutant officer relationship. Their meeting continued for a couple of hours before Jasper was finally dismissed. After completing his remaining assignments and a short dinner, he returned to his quarters to clean his uniform for the ball, before going to bed.

About three in the morning, Jasper wakened with a start. For the third night in a row, a dream had shaken him awake. The problem was that he could not remember what it was about. It was not a nightmare, in the traditional sense. It did not scare him, but it certainly wasn't pleasant either.

Jasper sat up, trying to remember, but had not been able to so far; he wanted to more than he could express. There were no details to recall. Each night he woke, with only a feeling rather than a memory. Tonight, he had the impression that not falling was more frightening than falling. This made no sense. Always one who was cool under pressure, Jasper knew that there was nothing with heights that he could imagine frightening him, but could not imagine how not falling is scarier than actually falling.

He rose from his bed and moved tentatively across the room. The moonlight from his open window gave just enough light to guide him to the desk. He always left it orderly and clean, with everything in the same place. He found the matches with no trouble, struck one, and lit the oil lamp before taking a seat.

For the first time he noticed that he was covered in sweat. His naked body glistened in the lamplight.

_It must be from the heat_, he reasoned to himself.

Just like the days, the past few nights had been far hotter than normal, and the humidity only made it worse. It had made wearing his wool uniform during the day was almost unbearable, which made him determined to be more comfortable when he could. Old wives' tales be damned, he had come to enjoy sleeping naked under the open window. It was far cooler than wearing traditional night clothing, and he considered the change quite refreshing.

He sat there for a few moments and allowed himself to calm down. He could not, however, shake the feeling that his dream meant something.

_Why would it be happening if it was not important?_ He asked himself.

Yet, in spite of his best efforts to recall anything, Jasper remained clueless to any details of the dream. He retrieved his pen and inkwell from the desk's drawer, then reached over to the corner of the desk and pulled his journal out from the bottom of a small stack of books. Jasper opened to last page where he had written his thoughts from the previous two nights:

_There is no blood._

_Women speak in riddles._

Below this he added, _Not falling is more frightening than falling_.

Jasper stared at these three lines together. There was no sense or connection to be made among them. There was no point in pursuing it any further tonight. Unfortunately, he was too awake to attempt going back to sleep now. He closed the journal and returned it to the bottom of the books. He then pulled a small book off of the top of the stack. It was the US War Department's US Infantry Tactics. It was another text borrowed from Captain Jacobs, who had gotten it from a friend who graduated from West Point with him. Jacobs had insisted on letting the major study it. Jasper was grateful, and had been working his way through the 400-page tome with great interest. This evening, he was reading about wheel turns for moving lines and avoiding having one's flank turned.

He read for an hour or so before finally closing the book and returning to bed. Jasper was significantly cooler and much calmer than he had been before the dream. He laid down, felt a cool draft waft down the length of his naked body, and quickly fell back into a deep sleep.

The following day passed slowly and uneventfully. Jasper was only interested in going to the Taylor Estate as soon as possible. When five o'clock finally rolled around, Jasper left for the stables to get Tex. He missed riding as much as he did while in the field, but he still visited her every couple of days. Once brushed and saddled, Jasper climbed up and headed north to the Taylors.

He had barely made past the edge of town when his feeling of excitement suddenly turned to dread. He did not know why, but he knew something was wrong.

Then everything seemed to happen at once.

Six men appeared from the bushes, shouting as they came from all directions. One of them had managed to throw a lasso around Tex's neck before Jasper could spur her on to safety. He reached for his pistol, but saw multiple men had drawn on him already. Knowing his situation, Jasper raised his hands showing they were empty, then placed them on the saddle horn.

Then a seventh man came out from the brush. At once, Jasper realized his mistake.

"You a hard man to catch alone," Albert Baldwyn spat with an air of victory.

"And I am a fool not to have seen at once that you sent that invitation," Jasper responded.

"Well, I never did credit you for bein' terribly smart," Baldwyn chuckled. "You see, you got all that fancy book learnin' but you don' know much about reality."

"You really do not know me do you?" Jasper said with a laugh. This laugh seemed to make Baldwyn particularly angry.

"I caught you didn' I?" Baldwyn yelled as his victory had given way to genuine hatred. "I knews you was gonna jump at the chance to see that lady friend of yours."

"So now that you have me, Mr. Baldwyn, what are you going to do with me?"

"Oh, I'm not gonna do much. At least not until these men do what they's gettin' paid for."

The hired hands were slowly closing in on Jasper and Tex. Jasper looked them over as they approached. All of them had a pistol except for Baldwyn and the man holding the rope around Tex's neck. Jasper chuckled, intentionally trying to irritate Baldwyn even further.

"What the hell's so funny? I GOT YOU this time!" He was furious.

"I cannot believe that you managed to corner me the one time in two weeks that I did not have a backup plan," Jasper said coolly.

"That's what makes me smarter than you. Now git off that damn horse before they shoot you off."

"Baldwyn," Jasper sighed, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"GIT! OFF!"

"You really do not know me as well as you think," Jasper said shaking his head.

The men were all within arms-reach of each other by this point; three men on each side. Three pistols pointed at his left, two more were on his right. Jasper collected Tex's reins and handed them to a man on right, who holstered his gun to take better control of the horse. Jasper stood in the stirrups, brought his left leg over Tex's back and then, with an unexpected fierceness, he stomped his foot down, spur first, gouging the face of the only remaining gunman on the right. With pure grace, Jasper fell the rest of the way to the ground, where he used his horse for protection, as he pulled his pistol and fired two balls, sinking one shot into each of the men holding Tex's ropes.

He heard shouting from the other side, one voice obviously going away from him. He peaked under Tex, still using her for cover, and saw one man running away. The remaining two were saying something to each other, but Jasper could not make out the words as the gouged man on ground behind him had started shouting nonsensical expletives as his shock subsided enough for him to grasp the full measure of his pain.

_Four men down,_ Jasper thought, _three more to go. _

He took a quick aim under Tex's body and fired a ball into one of the men's thighs. Tex was used to shots being fired, but this one from under her startled her. She reared up before running off, leaving Jasper without protection. He kept his gun up and trained it on the one man left standing. The other was on the ground holding his bleeding thigh.

"Shoot 'em!" Baldwyn ordered. "I ain't payin' you to stand there!"

"Yeah?" the man spat back, loud enough to be heard over the over the moans and cries of the men on the ground. "I ain't gittin' paid enough to die. No money's worth my life," he said as he slowly moved to holster his gun.

"Don't leave yet," Jasper ordered. "I am going to get my horse, and you are going to retrieve a doctor for these men. I will come back in one hour and I will kill anyone who is still here." He spoke with such severity there was no questioning that he would do it. "Now go!"

The man turned on his heel and ran south toward the city. Jasper turned to look for Baldwyn, but he had managed to slip away into the surrounding brush without leaving a trace or a sound.

"Baldwyn!" Jasper roared, for the first time he had anger in his voice. "If you know what is good for you, this ends now!" He looked around. He listened for noise. The man had managed to truly disappear. "Baldwyn!" He shouted again. "The blood of these men is on YOUR head, not mine."

Jasper was telling the truth as he saw it. His goal was simply to neutralize the aggressing force, not to kill. However, with a seven-on-one ratio, some deaths were inevitable… possibly even his own. He considered killing only two men and injuring two more, while winning the confrontation to be the best possible result.

He then ran the thirty yards or so that Tex had run, calmed her, and as quickly as he could, continued on to the Taylor Estate. One of the family's slaves came out of the house to greet him as he approached.

"Gabriel," Jasper said urgently, "I need to speak with Mr. Taylor posthaste."

"Mr. Whitlock, sir, I'm real happy to see you again…"

"I'm sorry, Gabriel, but I have no time for pleasantries. Fetch me Mr. Taylor."

"I can't do that, sir, Mr. Taylor is not at home."

"Mrs. Taylor, then, or Melody!"

"I can't sir. They's all gone away for the week."

Jasper calmed down and sat back in the saddle. "How long have they been gone?"

"Just a couple of days past. They's to be back next Tuesday, sir."

"Good, good," Jasper said to no one in particular. "Gabriel, if I tell you something, I need you to swear to keep it to yourself."

"Yessir, I can do that."

"No, I do not mean just keep it quiet. This absolutely cannot get back to Mr. Taylor, under any circumstances."

"Master Whitlock, sir, I keep enough secrets as is from all I seen around here and there. I knows how," he said with a smile and slight nod, as though that was supposed to mean something in particular.

Jasper knew that Melody's parents were rather odd, and he could only imagine the things Gabriel had overseen and overheard. With that assurance, he recounted the events that had just transpired.

"I do not know if he will come this way," Jasper warned, "but I would feel much better if you kept a firearm nearby."

"Master Whitlock, sir, you know us slaves ain't allowed to touch no firearms."

"I never said use it," Jasper said coolly. "I said keep it nearby. You do not use it unless you have to defend yourself or anyone else in this house from these men."

"Do you realize what would happen if I kill't a white man, sir?" Gabriel was very deeply concerned about this.

"If it happens," Jasper comforted, "you send someone to fetch me. I will come at once. And I promise upon my honor that you will not bear the burden for defending yourself against this man." Jasper said with such confidence and sincerity that Gabriel calmed down and a part of genuinely wanted to trust him.

They spoke for a few more minutes before Jasper pulled his spare powder and lead balls from the saddlebags and reloaded the three empty chambers in his revolver. He did not wait the full hour he promised, but by the time he returned to the city forty five minutes later, the road was clear. Apparently the men had taken him seriously; more seriously than he had taken Baldwyn.

Guests were already beginning to gather in the Gulf Star Hotel's ballroom when Jasper returned. He peaked inside and saw General Hebert speaking with Galveston's Mayor, and he approached the pair to brief his superior.

"We need to talk," Hebert said as Jasper approached.

Apparently word had already reached the city prior to his return. Jasper gave a full accounting of events as they transpired to the general, but made sure to include the mayor as well. They listened to his story and did not question his actions, but they did ask questions of the engagement.

"This is most unfortunate," sighed the general. "He has struck locally, but clearly he is wilier than we gave him credit."

"My greater concern, General," interrupted the mayor, "is for the safety of our citizens. Your presence is designed to protect us, not to rain terror down upon us."

"With all due respect, good sir," Hebert retorted with the full weight of his authority, "we are here to protect the harbor and to make sure that supplies can still safely enter the country. Your protection is ancillary to that purpose."

There was a tense moment of silence among the three men as that comment settled between the mayor and general.

"If I may, sir," Jasper spoke up, "it seems clear that we should still go on training maneuvers as planned. I will depart first thing Monday morning. Captain Jacobs has prepared the men who are scheduled to go."

"That sounds like the most appropriate course of action," Hebert answered. "However, I still do not like this situation. This Baldwyn character is cunning and patient, which makes him dangerous. I do not anticipate he will strike again in a similar manner."

"I concur, sir," Jasper answered.

"I don't care either way," the mayor interjected. "This bounty hunter, or whatever he is, is a menace. He has involved our citizens, who are injured or dead.

"What kind of citizens were they?" Jasper asked, rather angry at the mayor's implication. "Where they upstanding, honorable?"

The mayor stammered something incoherent before finally spitting out, "It matters not if they are drunkards or ne'er-do-wells, they are still Texans and citizens under my watch." He shot a severe glance towards Hebert and added, "if no one else will tend to their protection, I must."

The mayor then marched off toward the band at the stage end of the ballroom, across from the entryway, ordered something animatedly, and they started playing almost immediately. The few guests who had arrived early looked a little confused at the early start to the evening's festivities, but some started dancing nonetheless.

"Major Whitlock," Hebert said in low voice, so as to be drowned out by the band should any bystanders attempt to eavesdrop, "what is your opinion of him?"

"Well, I do not believe my opinion has changed at all since we last spoke. He is still ruthless, dangerous, and had some incomprehensible grudge against me."

Hebert laughed.

"Not him," he said returning to his low voice. "What is your opinion of the mayor?"

"Well, sir," Jasper paused, hesitant to say exactly what he thought. "Sadly, I must admit that politics are not my forte. Perhaps it would be most prudent for me not to answer."

"For a man who claims not to care for politics, you truly speak like one."

"That is a dubious honor, sir."

"Consider this," Hebert said, "put rank aside for the next two minutes, I am not a general and you are not a major. We are simply Paul and Jasper." He paused, as if to let that concept sink in for a moment. "Now, what is your opinion of the mayor?"

"Speaking bluntly and off the record," Jasper started, "He suffers from acute myopia. He's so concerned about this little patch of earth that he cannot see the storms eroding the world around it. I daresay he is so shortsighted, I could not venture to guess which is shorter: the man's vision or his manhood."

Hebert laughed heartily. "Jasper, I do believe you have pegged this to perfection. Dealing with little piss ants like him when I was governor was one factor that led me not to run for reelection."

"Forgive my ignorance, sir," Jasper said with surprise. "I did not realize that you had been governor."

"Yes, I have spent my time in politics. Dealing with mayors was almost as annoying as the newspapers. When you make a mistake in war, men die, yet they pat you on the back for your leadership and perseverance, but when you make a mistake in politics, they try to kill you with ink."

"It is a double-edged sword, but given the option, which do you prefer?" Jasper asked.

"Given the option, Jasper," he answered without hesitation, "I would be back on my sugar plantation. For the time being, I am stuck in that special hell between war and politics. I am not actively engaged in either, but I must deal with both of them simultaneously."

He sighed. Jasper could sense Hebert's longing for the simpler life of plantation management, away from such complications.

"How about you, Jasper?" Hebert asked with genuine interest. "Given your druthers, where would you be right now?"

"I have not really thought of that, sir," he lied. Jasper knew exactly where he wanted to be: with Melody. Their courtship had been brief, but intense. He missed her and longed to feel her touch again.

"If I had to place an answer upon it," Jasper continued after his pause, "with all due respect to you and my service here, I would like to be back in action on the front. There, everything is clear. There is black and white. There is right and wrong. There is life and there is death."

Hebert laughed again.

"If you do not wish to answer that is fine, but you and I both know that answer is as genuine as a pile of horse shit." He looked Jasper in the eyes. "No sane man wants to be in combat… we both know that."

"You are correct, sir," Jasper relented.

"Well, might I suggest that you find a pleasant distraction until you can find a better answer to that question? There are some fine young women here this evening, there is a band, and a dance floor with some available room.

With that, Hebert nodded and stepped away to speak with some more civic leaders.

_For a man who detests politics, he sure does play it well_, Jasper thought.

He looked around the room. The crowd had grown while he spoke with the general, but it did not interest him. Melody would not be there, which meant his interest was gone as well. He stayed to indulge with a couple glasses of wine before retiring to his room for an early night.

*State of the State speeches were annual events during the Confederate era where governors would make a general report to the state's legislative branch. These are comparable to modern State of the Union speeches.

**This is one of three areas that were incorporated to create modern-day Baytown, TX.

*** Bolivar Peninsula.


	23. Gossip

**A/N: I am moving right along and will have another chapter up soon. I express my appreciation and undying love for my wonderful betas/prereaders: WuogKat and MaleficentKnits. As always, I bow before their awesomeness. Everything you find in here is my own original work and content EXCEPT FOR Major Jasper Whitlock. He is intellectual property of S. Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

June 21, 1862

Jasper had been in his room for a couple of hours since coming up from the dance. He had busied himself by writing a detailed report of his attack earlier that evening. Then, after a quick wash in his room dry sink, he laid down to sleep. Unfortunately for him, the noise and merriment from the ballroom was more than enough to keep him awake. He laid in bed, naked, enjoying the occasional breeze through his window while attempting to identify the songs being played below.

Then, suddenly, there was knock at the door.

"Who's calling?" Jasper said loudly in the darkness.

There was no answer but, in response, there was another knock.

"I have retired for the evening, if it is important, identify yourself," Jasper was every bit as frustrated as his voice sounded, "otherwise move along."

He waited for an answer, but again, none came. Only another knock.

"Depart!" Jasper shouted.

Silence for a moment. Then… another knock.

Jasper attempted to ignore it, but the visitor would not go away. The knocking would continue for a few seconds followed by about fifteen seconds of silence and then more knocks.

_Who the hell could that be? _Jasper thought to himself. Then the worst possible answer came to his mind: Baldwyn!

_It's perfect, _Jasper reasoned, _there's plenty of cover noise from below, and no one would expect him to make a second attempt in the same night. _

_But he couldn't know where my room is_, said another voice in the back of Jasper's head, _and he certainly would not knock. If he were to take shots, he would just as well attempt to kick the door open._

Battling with himself through a fourth round of taps on the door, Jasper finally sided with the second voice. He rose from the bed, pulled his pants on, and grabbed his Colt… just in case. He moved to the door and opened it just enough to peek out with one eye and the pistol's barrel. He saw a tall, beautiful woman, with solid black locks, draping down to her shoulders.

"Well there is no need for a weapon, is there now, Mister Whitlock?" drawled the young woman with a coy smile.

"Connie?" Jasper said with as much surprise and disgust. "What in the name of all that is holy are you doing here?"

"Honestly, Jasper, do you think I would ignore you tonight of all nights?"

"Connie, I do not know what you are doing here, but if you do not come to a point with utmost haste, I will forcibly remove you from this hall?"

"Is that a promise, Major?" she said, her voice dripping with innuendo. The glare in Jasper's eyes told her to take his threat seriously. She cleared her throat and dropped a little of the playfulness in her voice, "Well, certainly you expected word to travel."

"Word of what?" he asked, genuinely not knowing what she meant.

"It's all anyone and everyone is talking about. An attack on one of our dear protectors that leaves men dead…"

"And I'm sure you are heartbroken that I was not among them," Jasper interrupted. "You didn't come to finish the job, did you?" Jasper was surprised at his own anger.

"Now I do take that as quite an affront," Constance said with true distain. "Just because we have had our little difference does not mean that I wish you any harm. I was all a flutter when I heard that you were attacked."

Her voice was genuine and Jasper was touched. He decided to show a little good will by pushing the door open slightly and turning to holster is gun. She did not enter the room, but she took a step unto the doorway.

"Am I correct to assume I should be flattered?" Jasper asked rhetorically.

"Honestly Jasper, I was truly concerned for your safety. We may have broken off our courtship, but I do not desire any harm to befall you."

"I don't know what you heard, but I can take care of myself just fine."

"Against _ten men_, though?"

"Ten?" Jasper asked with surprise. "There were just seven men, but only six really attempted anything."

"Surely you jest," Connie gasped. "How can you take such a cavalier attitude? You could have been killed."

"I am not trying to be anything but honest," Jasper said matter-of-factly. "I was attacked, and I came out no worse for wear."

"And you killed them?"

"Constance," Jasper said, not wanting to discuss this with her, "I truly do thank you for your concern. I appreciate knowing you bear me no ill will. But speaking with candor, I must admit I have no desire to speak further on this matter."

She stood there for a moment in silence. She wanted to know how he felt, but she really could not imagine what it would be like to fear for her life. She pitied him.

"Get dressed," she said holding out a hand, "then come to the dance with me."

"I cannot," he said flatly. "Go. Enjoy yourself. I feel confident there are enough other men who would seek your company."

"But none of them are a hero of the war."

"Is that all I am to you, Connie? A thing, like a fancy dress in a shop window? A pretty thing to drape your arm around when I fit your fancy?"

"That is not it at all, Jasper. I never wanted such ills to grow between us."

"Then why tonight?" he shot back. "Two months ago you had to get in the spotlight, and I have neither seen nor heard hide nor hair of you until by shear happenstance I find myself once again in the center of gossip."

Constance said nothing. She was hurting. Her concern had been genuine, but the truth she did not recognize had been exposed.

"You bastard!" she blurted, flushing as her hurt turned into anger.

Jasper stepped up to her.

"Good night, Miss Austin," he said calmly, and he started to close the door.

"I think not!" she shouted.

Jasper grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her out into the hall. "Trust me, Connie, we're done here," he said sternly before stepping back inside and closing the door.

"I can't believe you, of all people, Jasper Whitlock, would do such a thing to me!" Jasper heard her yell through the door. He also heard her first few footsteps as she stormed down the hallway, but soon gave way to the sounds of the ball below.

Jasper removed his britches and returned to bed. He slept soundly for the first time in nearly a week.

* * *

Sunday came and went, and the week quickly passed with an unusual ease. Jasper's life was as normal as could be expected, until Thursday morning.

"Consider the invitation rescinded," someone said as though he had been mid-conversation with Jasper.

"Mr. Taylor, sir, 'tis a pleasure to see you, please join me," Jasper said standing slightly from his chair and extending an arm inviting his guest to have a seat.

"I have no such intention," Taylor shot back. "I had trusted you. I thought you had honor, but you have deceived me on both counts."

"Mr. Taylor, I do not know what I done to warrant such a reaction, but I pray you to give me audience."

He stood there, sizing up Jasper for a moment. Some of the other patrons had given up all pretenses of eaves dropping and had turned to watch the interaction. This likely had greater bearing on Taylor's decision than anything else.

"Two minutes, Whitlock," he said taking a seat, "that is all."

"Firstly, what invitation do you speak of?"

"The one I sent by courier last night."

"I apologize, sir, I have not yet received it. The desk was vacant when I came down this morning, so I have not checked for messages; a fact I am certain you can verify if you so desire."

"That matters not," he said condescendingly. "I cannot believe that after the way my Melody had pined for you and begged me to allow your company… I finally acquiesced after hearing of how you finally dispatched that man threatening you, but you had to turn to another woman."

"Mr. Taylor, I fear there has been some gross miscommunication. While I have heard every word you said, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"I had no sooner told Mrs. Taylor I had given my blessing for you to call upon Melody again then she regaled me with the tales of your indiscretions at the ball."

"Sir, I did not even attend the formal," Jasper said with exasperation. "There was nothing that could have happened."

"So you would have me believe that you were not seen half naked, sending Miss Austin from your quarters and that you were, if you will forgive the quotation, 'done with her'?" Taylor said a suppressed rage. "Whitlock, such details are rarely fabricated."

"There has been a gross misunderstanding to the events of that night," Jasper started to explain before being cut off.

"And there has been a riveting use of two minutes." Taylor said curtly. "Good day, sir!"

Taylor stood up and left without hearing another word. Jasper had stood up as well, but realized that anything he said would be heard by the eavesdroppers before Taylor heard it.

He sat down, leaning forward in his chair. He wiped his hand over his face out of frustration, as if so doing would somehow help him think more clearly. He sat there staring at his uneaten breakfast without really seeing it, and was so preoccupied he did not even notice Captain Jacobs approach his table.

"Major Whitlock?" Jacobs asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Jasper lied as he looked up. "I didn't sleep well last night, that's all."

"If you will forgive a little loose speech before work, sir," he said in lowered voice, "did I just see Melody's father leaving here?"

"Most likely," Jasper said, hiding any emotion.

"Is this good news, sir? Or bad?"

"Let's just say it was neither a positive nor a pleasant visit."

"It he still worried about that man who is chasing you?"

"No, actually his concern is regarding another life ruiner."

"Miss Austin?" Jacobs asked with a little surprise.

"Captain," Jasper said returning to a more professional demeanor, "do you have any official business?"

"I apologize, sir," the captain backtracked quickly before addressing the reason for his visit.

Jasper listened intently, but could not repress a smile when he realized the nickname he had created by accident: Constance the Life Ruiner.


	24. Caught

**A/N: Much love to my wonderful beta, MaleficentKnits. She is nine kinds of wonderful. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer, but everything else belongs to me.**

* * *

July 29, 1862

It had been slightly over five weeks since Albert Baldwyn's trap had been sprung on the outskirts of Galveston. The plan had been flawless, and was perfectly set. The problem had been in execution. Baldwyn was convinced that the issue was with the local idiots he had hired who had allowed Major Whitlock to outsmart them. It was a mistake he had no intention of replicating.

It didn't happen often in his life, but at that moment Baldwyn had genuinely feared for his life. He believed that Jasper was going to end him at that moment. That was why he fled when the major's attention was diverted. He hunkered down and crawled into the bushes, where he sat until Jasper galloped off. Baldwyn then ran for the bay, where he managed to catch a ferry across to the northern peninsula.

He decided to take some time off from his quest to catch Jasper Whitlock by taking on some bounty hunting jobs. There was decent money to be made in it if you could catch the right criminal. The largest money was found in bounty jumpers.* Baldwyn had been successful in catching four over the past month, and had made a few hundred dollars reward for his efforts. It had been a prosperous and enjoyable sabbatical from chasing Whitlock, but he felt it was time to move back toward Galveston.

Then providence afforded an unexpected reward.

Baldwyn saw him sitting in the dining room of one of the nicest restaurants in Houston. The very man Baldwyn had been tracking him for so long was sitting clear for all to see through the establishment's front window. It was perfect. The soldier he sought was sitting alone near the dining room's entrance, with his back to the door. Baldwyn knew that luck such as this would not come again and he also knew the reward did not specify a condition of return.

He spurred his horse along quickly to the far side of the restaurant, where he tied his horse to the hitching post. He quickly, but quietly, slipped into the front of the store and walked up to the maître d'.

"This'll cover any damages," Baldwyn said, slipping the man a fiver dollar bill, nearly half of a soldier's monthly pay.

Before the man could respond, Baldwyn took three steps toward the major, withdrew his pistol, and fired two balls into the man's back. After a sharp gasp of shock, the officer fell forward, dead before his body hit the table. Amid the gasps and shouts, Baldwyn stood his ground triumphantly, looking over the limp body.

"Y'all go on about your business, folks," Baldwyn announced officially, "this here's a legal matter, and I'm jus' collectin' my fare."

At least one man moved toward him, but Baldwyn shot him a glance and twitched his arm as if to remind the stranger that he had not yet holstered the sidearm. The man reluctantly sat back down at his table.

"Y'all have a fine day, now," he said holstering his gun. Baldwyn stepped forward, pulled the body up and draped it over his shoulder. He made his way quickly outside to where his horse was tethered. He shoved the body up and onto the back of the horse and climbed into the saddle.

It was a quick ride to the enlistment station, where he had been so much the past month seeking leads and collecting rewards. Now, he came in with his largest reward yet.

"Scott!" Baldwyn shouting upon entering the station. "Scott, where are you?"

Footsteps could be heard coming from a back room. A moment later, an overweight, bearded sergeant stuck his head through a door.

"What the hell do you want, Baldwyn?" he asked gruffly.

"I got me the biggest one yet," he said with the tenor of a man who just slain a Goliath.

"Yeah?" the sergeant said with a little more interest. "You got another bounty jumper?"

"Wait until you see," Baldwyn said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Where you hidin' him at?"

"Got him outside," he answered and beckoned the sergeant to meet him at the door.

Sergeant Scott grunted as he made his way around the front counter and waddled his way to the door, taking longer than even his obesity would have dictated. Not seeing anyone, he stepped out onto the porch and looked at Baldwyn, who was standing by his horse.

"Where is he?" Scott said with frustration. "I ain't got time for this shit."

Baldwyn, now leaning against the hitching post cocked his head toward the lump on the back of the horse. It took the sergeant a moment before he realized what Baldwyn was trying to show him.

"Jesus H. Christ!" he shouted. "You killt a got-damned officer?"

"Nothing saying I couldn't," Baldwyn said with a smile. "Now when do I git my reward?"

"It ain't that simple," Scott said, still obviously flummoxed. "Who exactly you shoot?"

Baldwyn stepped over, grabbed the dead man's long, blonde hair, and raised the head up so the sergeant could see.

"Is that really…" Scott trailed off recognizing the man's face from the posters.

"Yup," Baldwyn said. "Bill Everett."

"That man's a legend. He's jumped no less than ten bounties," Scott said with absolute awe.

"No less," Baldwyn replied. "He's made thousands of dollars off of honest men, and I wasn't gonna let him do it again."

"But he ain't no officer…"

"Hell, he enlisted enough times to be one by now," Baldwyn laughed. "Probably bought the uniform hoping people would leave him alone. Most anyone lookin' for him wouldn't've looked past the star.** It's a great disguise."

"How'd you know it was him?"

"If there is one thing I know, Scott," he said with sudden seriousness, "I know my prey."

"That you do, Baldwyn," the sergeant said still unbelieving the score that had just been brought in. "So what is your next target?"

"You wouldn't know him… he's not a big target."

"Try me," Scott challenged.

"A man named Jasper Whitlock," Baldwyn said watching for any reaction from the sergeant.

"Nope," he said shaking his head, "never heard of him."

Baldwyn was relieved, knowing the major would not have any warning. There was a moment's silence until the sergeant spoke up

"This is amazing," he said to no one in particular. "Well, get that body in here. I'll send for an undertaker and then I've got to send a few telegrams. I can't wait for this word to get out."

Baldwyn did as he was instructed, only because he knew it was a means to an end. Everett's bounty was sure to fetch a handsome reward. Now he had to delay his return to Galveston, but it would be no more than a week until he saw the cash. It would be worth the wait. And he still knew where to find Major Jasper Whitlock.

* * *

*A draftee could avoid serving if he could pay someone to serve in his place. The substitute would be any enlistment bonus (called a "bounty" at the time) and the typical commutation fee of $300. This, along with the bounty, was very good money, as a private's salary was $11-13/month throughout the war. A "bounty jumper" is someone who would substitute, enlist, flee, and do the same thing all over again far enough away to avoid getting caught.

**A confederate major's insignia is one star on the collar.


	25. The Dance

**A/N: Much love to my wonderful beta MaleficentKnits. She has been working overtime as I am trying to plow through the end of this story. Major Jasper Whitlock is intellectual property of S. Meyer; no copyright infringement is intended. Everything else belongs to my overactive imagination.**

* * *

August 2, 1862

It had been five weeks since his breakfast encounter with Mr. Taylor. In that time, his life had been absolute hell socially. The social circles of high society and officers were still abuzz with the scandal of Jasper's near nakedness in the hallway with Constance Austin. By the Fourth of July, no fewer than twenty people claimed to have witnessed the events which transpired in the hallway. This fact alone should have tipped off the casual observer to the falsehoods being spread. A group that large would have drawn far too much attention ascending the staircase, much less loitering in the corridor long enough to see Jasper remove Constance.

Even more confusing than this was the throng of stories regarding what actually transpired between the two. Some tales were close enough to the truth that he did not concern himself with them. Others were so far from any semblance of truth that one would have been convinced that Jasper and Connie had performed publicly and intentionally engaged in intimate relations. Again, this myriad of tales should have proved the fallacy of the rumors. However, it seemed that within the quilting bees and rumor mills, such logic was less important than the need for factually unsubstantiated, but salacious, details.

Regardless of the Taylors' relative lack of interest in the social gossip, Mr. Taylor had seemed to embrace these stories as fact. Jasper's reasonable and logical side passed this off as further protecting Melody from scandal; however his emotional side was convinced that Taylor believed these stories and thought ill of his daughter's would-be suitor.

Yet Jasper remained personally convinced that Melody had not bought into the tales. Twice he had happened to meet Melody in public. Of course each time it was just serendipity that had the two meet in passing. It was more accurate to say that the three met, as Melody's mother seemed to chaperone her everywhere.

The first two times they had met, Melody remained distant, but her eyes would meet his and linger until she stumbled or tripped and had to look away. Her mother chided her the first time for being so clumsy. The second time, however, she understood what happened and reprimanded her for flirting in public. Jasper proved to be less obvious about his intentions as he stopped and stared at her; not looking away even after she stumbled. In each of those encounters, it was clear they still longed for each other.

However, they remained distant. Jasper initially planned to approach her at the July ball. Unfortunately for him, that celebration was canceled because of Galveston's Independence Day celebration. As all Southerners considered themselves to be heroes like America's Founding Fathers and Framers, they saw the importance of celebrating the Fourth of July. The town's festivities were nothing short of spectacular. So much so, the powers that be decided to cancel the July ball. Instead, the mayor pushed to have one at the beginning of August.

Jasper welcomed this change. It gave Mr. Taylor a little extra time to move past the misunderstanding that had so badly offended him and Jasper planned to attend the event with the expressed purpose of dancing with Melody.

_Surely_, Jasper reasoned, _there is no way her father could object with so many witnesses and chaperones_.

He entered the ballroom of the Gulf Star Hotel impressed by the decorations. Red, white, and blue streamers crisscrossed over the dance floor, with Texas and Confederate flags around the walls of the room. The band was playing a lively waltz that Jasper did not recognize, but it certainly had enough people dancing.

Junior officers were circling the room, looking for a belle in much the same manner a wolf chooses a hen. The senior officers and many city officials were standing in small circles discussing whatever it was old people talked about instead of dancing.

He was relieved to see the Taylors had already arrived. Mr. Taylor was in one of those circles chatting away with another shipping agent, an older, local gentleman named Ebenezer Nichols, who had been commissioned as a captain in Galveston, despite his age. Jasper slipped into the room discretely and circled it himself looking for Melody.

He found her almost immediately, on the floor dancing with a young officer he did not recognize. Jasper planned to circumvent Melody's father altogether and approaching her at the conclusion of this dance, which ended quickly enough.

The young man escorted her to the edge of the dance floor, as was appropriate. Melody thanked him with a smile and appropriate curtsy before opening her handbag and withdrawing it to look at her dance card.

"Is there an opportunity to get myself added to that list, perchance?" Jasper asked coyly.

Melody looked up and her eyes sparkled in a way that betrayed her stoic expression.

"What makes you think I would care to have you added to it?" she asked with equal slyness.

"Miss Taylor," Jasper started, "Melody, do we really need to talk in circles?"

"Well then," she said quickly stuffing the card back into her purse, "are you going to ask me to dance or not?"

"May I?" Jasper said holding out a hand.

Melody took it and followed him to the floor. They stood there for a moment amid the throng of and couples waiting for the next song to start as musicians were changing seats so that some could take a break. There was low din of conversation amongst the would-be dancers as the brass and woodwind heavy band was changing to a dominant string-based instrumentation. In the wait, however, Jasper and Melody stood there staring into each other's eyes. After a few moments, the new arrangement had finally struck up a slow, western ballad.

Jasper took Melody's right hand and held it out, then he put his left hand on her hip and pulled her body in close to his, as they started moving slowly to the music.

"I'm glad you asked me to dance," Melody purred.

"I am glad to know that," he said, still looking into her eyes.

"I honestly do not know what transpired between you and my father, except that he forbade me from answering should you call upon me," Melody explained.

"And why should that be?" Jasper questioned. "I did nothing wrong, and he did not give me time to explain. Rumors are wild as geese and true as a drunkard's aim."

"I knew the rumors could not be true," she said with obvious relief in her voice, "but why did you never call on me?"

"Out of respect for your father's wishes. I knew how he would react," Jasper answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "But here, on the other hand, I know he would maintain decorum and not make a scene."

"You are a crafty devil, Major Whitlock," Melody teased. "I do not know what I shall ever do with someone who would temp crossing my father's path."

"God knows I've missed you, Melody." Jasper said as he twirled her on the dance floor in time with a flourish in the song's tune.

"And I you, Jasper," she said quietly as she came back in. Only this time, she placed her left hand on his chest rather than on his shoulder.

Their attraction rekindled as though they had not been separated at all. Their banter skipped any further formalities and digressed into blatant flirtation and innuendo. As the song was drawing to a close, Jasper reluctantly prepared to bid her _adieu_. He was only willing to risk one dance before catching Mr. Taylor's eye, and he knew that being caught would risk being able to repair the bridge that had somehow burned between them.

The band completed the song, and the room filled with the appropriate smattering of applause. Then, out of nowhere, came a loud, falsely sweet voice that had likely roused the attention of half the people in the room.

"If it isn't Major Whitlock!" Constance Austin practically shouted. "It makes me so happy to see that you have graced us with your presence tonight. It almost makes me sad. Does this mean that you do not desire my company in your quarters again this month?"

It was only two lines, but Connie had wielded it with rapier-like skill and drove it sharply into the target. Melody's doe-like eyes suddenly changed from a gleaming happiness to a sudden stormy gray.

"Are you referring to when you called upon me and it was I who refused to entertain your wiles?" Jasper retorted quickly. "Tis a rare occurrence in your many travels, I'm sure."

His reply was equally as powerful to bystanders, who undoubtedly would run this exchange through the requisite gossip mill, but it failed to reach the one person who needed to hear it. Melody had removed herself with surprising quickness and never heard his rejection of Constance. The Life Ruiner had struck again. And this time, Jasper was sure it was out of spite rather than some ill-timed resurgence of interest in him.

"That's an awfully sharp tongue you have there, Major," Connie said with feigned surprise, "but you do have certain talents with it, if I remember correctly."

"Certainly it is a talent to which you would not have been privy. In fact, the only skill for which I can credit you is the ability to ignore things which needle and annoy, like mosquitoes and sand gnats."

Jasper turned to leave, but had no clue where he was headed other than away from Connie. He didn't want to follow Melody because she was sure to be embarrassed, her father would have likely been even more put out with him now, and he had no desire to talk business which was certainly unavoidable if he got near General Hebert.

"Don't leave the dance on my account, Major," she called after him. "I could use a dance partner myself.

Her voice was clearly teasing, but Jasper could not shake the feeling that there was a certain truth behind her comment. Perhaps she did want him, if for no other reason than to validate her ability to control everything, or simply to remain the center of attention. If he wasn't so angry at her right now, Jasper would have felt sympathy for her.

The band had struck up another tune, a much livelier, modern country song, and any noise amongst onlookers was quickly drowned out by the music.

Jasper found his way over a column on the side of the room, between the ballroom floor and the wall. He stood there by himself for a few moments silently grousing about the incident that had just occurred. Then an older gentleman stepped up to him.

"Melody has asked me to speak with you," Mr. Taylor said offering him a glass of wine.

Jasper thanked him for the glass and stood otherwise silent, waiting to hear what Taylor had to say.

"Melody insists that she I should grant my blessing for you to call upon her again," he said and paused, waiting for Jasper to respond.

The major just took a sip of wine. He was rather surprised that after what had happened she would still want to see him. He must have somehow not known about Connie's little tirade a few moments before.

"She insists that I am too protecting and overly cautious," Taylor continued. "This may well be true, but it is a feeling I have in my gut. You seem to maintain honorable standards for yourself and those under your command admire you."

He paused again, clearly watching for any reaction and giving Jasper time to speak up.

Jasper took another sip of wine.

"I feel compelled to apologize for my comments a while back," he said, looking over Jasper's shoulder. It was clear this was hard for him to say, and while Taylor wanted to address him directly, it was too hard to admit his error whilst looking at him directly.

Jasper took another sip with this pause.

"Perhaps I spoke too hastily," he pushed out.

Jasper sipped his wine again, at this point waiting to see what his guest was trying to get him to say.

"I was wrong to have assumed you had dishonored yourself or Miss Austin, and for that I apologize," Taylor said quickly, finally getting to his point.

"I thank you for your understanding and trust," Jasper finally spoke up.

"Well, do not think that it is too much trust," Mr. Taylor corrected. "You, sir, are an honorable gentleman… of this I have neither doubt nor question. However, trouble seems to be a companion of yours whether you bring it upon yourself or not."

"It would seem that is the case, sir," Jasper started, but was cut off by Mr. Taylor.

"Therefore, I do not wish for you to call upon my daughter in public, even if you happen to see her by happenstance," he said firmly. "You are free to exchange letters, and I welcome you into our home. However, I shall not permit any opportunity for her name to be given such grief as has befallen young Miss Austin."

"Of course not, sir. That shall not happen," Jasper said hoping to suppress his eagerness. "If those are your conditions, I can abide by them."

"They are my conditions," he said in a slightly friendlier voice, "but you must also have a chaperone at all times, of course."

"I shall write before I visit to ensure it can be arranged."

"Then we have an accord," Mr. Taylor said, holding out a hand to Jasper. They shook as if completing a business arrangement, which Jasper assumed was how Mr. Taylor saw it.

With a nod and a courteous farewell, Mr. Taylor departed, leaving Jasper alone by the column once again. He stood there, enjoying the music, greeting passersby with a nod, and slowly finishing his glass of wine. Jasper had no other need to be there that evening. He had managed to dance and talk with Melody, and had managed to gain her father's blessing. It was only the request not to court her in public that kept Jasper from finding Melody.

The only unanswered question was what of his run in with Connie. Surely his exchange with her would make the rounds at quilting bees and cross stitching circles, but Jasper decided to cross that bridge when he came to it. He saw Connie, at one point, with a young captain, who was either too young or too new to know that she was a temperamental beast best left undisturbed. He chose not to get involved in this issue either. He had learned the hard way about her… the captain could as well.

In this time, Jasper surveyed the audience. It was the usual fare of officers and local aristocrats with their families. The only noticeable absence was General Hebert. It was unlike him to miss an event such as this, but Jasper recognized that he had not been himself of late. On the other side of military ranks, some NCOs dressed as well as they could and clogged the entryway, as if hoping to be chosen to come inside.

The band changed up personnel and instrumentation again, and shifted from contemporary music to more traditional ballroom selections. Jasper loitered for almost another hour in the ballroom before excusing himself. There was nothing left for him to do, and certainly no people of great interest left to entertain. It was nigh time for a night's rest.


	26. Tempests Brewing

**A/N: Okay, I've pumped out 6 chapters over the past 5 weeks, but It's going to be a couple of weeks before the next one. As always, Major Jasper Whitlock is intellectual property of S. Meyer. All other people are property of history or my imagination. No copyright infringement intended. Much love and thanks to my beta, MaleficentKnits.**

* * *

August 5, 1862

Social circles were always one area that Jasper Whitlock understood, but could never quite appreciate. There were cliques that never interacted, or simply tolerated other ones, while there always remained a segment of the population that desired to be included, but never were. The worst part was the gossip. Details changed too quickly to follow the source, and Jasper did not care for the games that were played. This is all part of the reason he worked so well with the enlisted men; Jasper did not play the mind games that existed in certain circles.

Politically, Jasper was still ambivalent to the games that must be played. While he came to understand and appreciate the complexities of them and their importance to a rising officer, he detested them. He wished more people were straight forward and to the point.

If Jasper understood anything, it was the chain of command. Officers follow orders from above and give orders to officers and NCOs below. It was simple enough. However, even this was proving to be difficult for him. This morning, General Hebert had told Jasper to order Captain Nichols to rally his regiment to construct more earthworks about the city, as the general deemed the current battlements insufficient to defend the batteries and the city from a naval bombardment.

"Rank aside, Whitlock, you need to understand that I am still somebody in this city and I can stop this before it gets started. Besides, do you think we train so hard just to shovel sand?" Captain Nichols barked.

"I understand that, _Captain_," Jasper put an additional emphasis on the rank, "but the fact remains General Hebert is still in charge of this command."

"And the fact remains that he is too damn timid to get the job done right," Captain Nichols retorted. "We've already fortified the city, and all of this defensive strategy will not amount to a lump of horse dung if he will prepare for a satisfactory offensive."

"I do not appreciate your tone, Captain Nichols. If you take issue with this, I highly recommend you either address in an unofficial capacity or you lodge a formal complaint," Jasper advised with a tone that left no question he was not to be challenged.

Jasper was quite frustrated with this situation. He was typically able to dominate most conversations and tense situations, but Captain Ebenezer B. Nichols had a fiery and dominant personality as well. Jasper found himself without his usual advantage.

"I believe we are done here, _Major_," Nichols said, ignoring Jasper's vocal warning, and this time he was emphasizing the rank.

"You have neither business nor authority to tell me when we are through," Jasper's said with an even greater severity.

"You are on _my_ private property, and I do not need rank to tell you when you are no longer welcome here," Nichols admonished in a voice seething with animosity. "Unless, of course, you have decided to declare martial law, in which case you are no better than the oppressors we are fighting."

There was a long cold stare between the two men.

"I trust you can show yourself out," Nichols said, still making no attempt to conceal his anger.

Jasper was livid with rage, but thanks to his recent tutelage in politics Jasper knew he had to walk a fine line with the captain. Ebenezer B. Nichols was a local businessman who had been in Galveston more than a decade before the war. He had established strong business and political connections in the city and state, as well as a personal fortune. Of course, being Grand Master of the local Free Mason lodge only strengthened his local clout.

Nichols had opposed secession at first, but by the first call for volunteers, he had changed his mind and joined the effort. His fortune and prestige earned him an officer's rank, but he was only a captain. He took his personal fortune and spent a good portion building fortifications around the city and even founded the Galveston Rifles, a local rifle company dedicated for service in the Galveston area. He dedicated the top floor of his company's building as a drill and parade ground for his rifle company.

"Captain Nichols," Jasper said through gritted teeth, and offered a curt nod as he turned to leave the E. B. Nichols and Co. building, which was less than one block away from the Gulf Star Hotel where the Confederate offices were.

"If you'd like to quote anything I've said, just have Hebert open his window and I will be obliged to shout it at him."

It was clear to any bystander that Major Whitlock was in a foul mood and people actively got out of his way as he walked down the hall and out the door. He failed to notice this, however, as his mind was focused on greater issues. While he had come to have a close personal relationship with General Hebert, there were some horrible truths that he did not want to admit.

More than a month before, he and Hebert had planned a defensive strategy to protect Galveston and ultimately the railroads as well as the city of Houston. It seemed like a good plan, and Jasper had personally selected the location of the batteries. However, very little had changed in the six weeks that had passed. Hebert had supposedly submitted requisitions for the cannons, but only a few had arrived.

Instead of the full complement of cannons, Hebert received a few with an order to fortify the entire Texas coastline, with a request he submit a larger order of supplies required to complete this task. As much as Jasper did not like to admit it, something had changed at that time. Hebert had lost an edge. He was no longer counseling with Jasper as he had before, and any advice he offered the general seemed to fall upon deaf ears. Jasper took solace by reminding himself that as a junior officer he was to accept orders and that any counsel he offered was little more than advice, and only when it was requested.

Yet Nichols had struck a chord. His disrespect to a higher ranking officer was little more than a personal slight to Jasper at this moment. He had to admit that for the past month Hebert _had _been too timid to complete this task. He would pour over maps of the coast, supply lists, and the latest telegrams from up and down the coast, but at the end of the day, he would have little decided. The pressures were getting to him, which surprised Jasper. He had even failed to attend the Grand Ball the past weekend, which was certainly uniquely out of the ordinary. Perhaps that was just another symptom of the problem.

_This should not be happening to an Academy graduate and former governor,_ Jasper thought to himself as he entered the hotel.

He made his way up the stairs, down the hall, and into the general's office. Sergeant McAdams was not at his desk, but Hebert's door was ajar. Walking over, he heard the general speaking.

"… if the freedoms you have enjoyed in this grand Republic of Texas is to survive, then every Texan must clean his old musket, shot-gun, or rifle, run his bullets, fill his powder-horn, sharpen his knife, and see that his revolver is ready to hand."*

McAdams was sitting across from Hebert's desk, taking dictation, while the general was pacing by the window. He had not noticed Jasper and had continued orating while the sergeant scribbled frantically to keep up.

"I can assure you, if you heed this call, our common enemy will never hold a foot of your soil – never!"** Hebert concluded. "Did you get that?"

"Yes sir," McAdams said, quickly turning the page preparing to write more.

"Ah, Whitlock," the general said, finally noticing Jasper at his door. "Sergeant, you get that in every newspaper between here and El Paso, and I want it in the evening edition as well! Do you understand me?"

Hebert's voice trembled somewhere between anger and urgency.

The sergeant slurred a muffled affirmative and excused himself. The expression on his face made it clear he this order was an unpleasant one.

"Have a seat, Whitlock," Hebert said before the sergeant had even made it to the door. "Take a telegram. I want you to send it posthaste."

Jasper sat, as ordered, and quickly grabbed a pencil and some paper from the general's desk.

"To Richmond," Hebert began, "War Office. Attention: Secretary of War, Leroy Pope Walker."

Jasper found himself having to scribble to keep up just as the sergeant had.

"I regret to say that I find this coast in almost a defenseless state, and in the almost want of proper works and armaments; the task of defending successfully any point against an attack of any magnitude amounts to a military impossibility."***

After waiting to see if Hebert was going to continue, Jasper asked, "Sir, with all due deference, is this really the best conclusion?"

"Do not forget your place, Major. Your advice has been invaluable in the past, and while your strategies are nothing short of exemplary locally, I do not believe you have sufficient understanding of the whole theater to appreciate the gravity of the situation before us."

This hurt Jasper. Deeply. It was not an offense of content, but of intonation. Hebert's answer and inflection made it clear that Jasper's advice was no longer needed. Hebert had lost any pretense of role model that he had once carried. He was the general and Jasper was the subordinate.

"Did Nichols agree to my request?"

"No sir."

"Did you inform him that I would order him if he did not agree?"

"That I did, sir."

"And…?"

"I do not believe he is prepared to speak with me any further on this matter."

"That son of a bitch," Hebert muttered under his breath. "Whitlock, these Texans are proud of their independence to a fault. Clearly they would rather suffer another Alamo than to defend themselves properly. If we do not muster ranks sufficient to provide earthworks and armaments up and down this coast all is more than lost."

Jasper remained silent. Normally he would have offered a consoling comment or looked over maps himself, but he recognized his role as subordinate and, as such, would not take it upon to speak unless necessary.

"Get that message to Secretary Walker, and then check with each unit in town. I need a full inventory and accounting of all men in this city."

"Yes sir," Jasper said as he stood to go and fulfill his assignments.

"And Whitlock," he piped up, his voice still straining with concern. "I don't care how long it takes. No matter what time you finish, you get that information to me immediately."

"Yes sir," he nodded before turning and leaving the office.

The ante-chamber was vacant when he came through. McAdams was no doubt sending telegrams to various Texas newspapers if not making a personal visit to the Galveston Daily News to get that request printed for the general.

He certainly could not deny it any further. This was not the same General Hebert he had worked with before. He was shutting down, but he was not giving up. He had plenty of fight left in him, but it had shifted to the political arena. Nichols may have been wrong in his presentation, but he was correct in his assessment; General Hebert had become too timid as a commander to get the Texas coast defended.

* * *

#Ebenzer B. Nichols was a real man, and this basic history is accurate. The E. B. Nichols and Co. Building still stands on The Strand in Galveston.

*Except for the portion prior to the first comma, this entire sentence is a direct quotation from Paul Octave Hebert.

**Direct quotation.

***Direct quotation.


	27. Photographs

**A/N: To my faithful readers, I am so sorry. I started a new job at the end of the summer that turned out to be more miserable than I could ever have imagined. I had no time for family, much less writing. I found a new job, and tendered my resignation a mere 6 days ago. Now I have another chapter and have started on the next one Coincidence? Not really. I hope to keep these coming until I complete this story. Thanks to MaleficentKnits, a wonderful friend, beta, and person! Much love to each of you, my readers. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. No infringement is intended.**

* * *

August 19, 1862

Jasper and Melody were walking lazily along the boardwalk along the Boulevard. The Texas summer was every bit as warm as one might expect, and the early afternoon sun was still bearing down on them as they strolled from their lunch date. The major was enjoying the shade of his slouch hat, but was silently lamenting the wool uniform. Had he not been in public with Miss Taylor, he would have undoubtedly unbuttoned his uniform coat and possibly part of his blouse. Melody, however, showed no sign of complaint of the heat as she sauntered along underneath her pastel yellow parasol.

Their lunch date had been a rather pleasant surprise. Early that morning, Jasper reported to Hebert with routine personnel reports and important updates regarding troop efforts of building fortifications along Galveston Island and the Peninsula. After less than an hour's worth of discussion, Hebert suddenly called the meeting to a close and instructed, "Your recent duties have been both exemplary and personally taxing. Take the remainder of the day for yourself for personal recuperation."

Such instructions did not bear need for repeating. Major Whitlock had found himself acting in a greater capacity than adjutant or assistant. At times, over the past fortnight, he believed that it was just him and Hebert operating the entire command. Fortunately, Jasper found that he could rely on Captain Jacobs to be as competent as he was reliable; both traits he knew Hebert saw in him.

Jasper had taken his leave and visited Mr. Taylor in his home at the north end of the island. He had concocted some thin excuse about discussing the state of the blockade from a commercial perspective. This was, of course, a very poorly veiled attempt to secure and invitation to join the Taylors for lunch. For all of his idiosyncrasies, Mr. Taylor was still shrewd enough of a businessman to recognize a plot whenever he saw one.

"I could gladly stand here and bore you with the details of maritime traffic," Mr. Taylor said bluntly, "or I could simply grant my blessing for you to call upon Melody, since that is what you truly hoped to discuss."

Jasper was rather excited to hear this, but he was nothing short of shocked when Mr. Taylor announced, "I shall send her into town to join you for lunch. If you dine at the Gulf Star Hotel, I do not see the need for a chaperone. Do you?"

Such a meeting was not within the traditional boundaries of contemporary society, but it was more obvious when he learned that Mr. Taylor had a meeting in the city and would not be at home for lunch. An unchaperoned lunch in public was a better option than such a date in the privacy of one's home.

"I am rather glad that you surprised me today, Major Whitlock," Melody said sweetly as they strolled.

"My other option was to wash and brush Tex," Jasper joked. "Given the alternative, it seemed like the right thing to do."

"Well, Major, perhaps I should consider myself fortunate that you made this choice."

"I must admit, it was a taxing and troublesome decision. Fortunately, Captain Jacobs recommended I toss a coin."

"My goodness," Melody stated with mock offense, "a coin toss between dinner and a horse? How do you live with these priorities?"

"Some days are more difficult than others," Jasper was not sure what made him happier. The fact that he felt comfortable enough to banter in this manner with Melody; or that she felt the same comfort toward him.

The two gathered little attention as they walked south down Boulevard and crossed streets. Horses and their buggies bustled by on the cobblestone street, while pedestrians moved about to their destinations. Jasper had neither motivation nor purpose to his walking, except to enjoy the afternoon sun with Miss Taylor, when she suddenly stopped.

"Pray tall, Major," Melody said coyly, "did you bring your coin purse?"

"Hmmmm…." Jasper stalled. "I fear there may not be any possible way to answer that question without drawing either derision or consequence."

"You have been spending too much time with politicians," she replied with a wide smile.

Melody took Jasper's hand and tugged on his arm, pulling him into a doorway to their right. The windows were facing east, away from the late afternoon sun, which made it significantly darker inside. Jasper's eyes could not adjust as quickly as the temperature did. It was significantly cooler outside of the sun, and Jasper was relieved by that fact alone.

"Good afternoon," said a chipper voice from across the room. "Welcome to Stein Photography."

As his eyes adjusted, Jasper saw who he presumed to be Mr. Stein; an older, stout gentleman with a bald spot on the top of head and rather impressive facial hair. The man's beard was no less than four inches in length. It and the matching mustache covered his entire face, except for his chin, which was as bald as the man's head. Jasper repressed an involuntary chuckle that sprang up from the absurdity of the man's appearance.

"We would like to sit for a photograph," Melody chirped.

"Of course, Madam," Mr. Stein said with a slight bow. "If you would follow me please, Mr. and Mrs.?" His voice trailed off waiting for an answer.

"I apologize for any confusion, sir," Jasper began hastily. "_Miss _Taylor and I are not betrothed, nor are we…," he trailed off.

"…nor are we what?" Melody asked slyly.

Major Whitlock had always been exceptionally good at reading people. That is to say, the men that worked with and for him. He had a comradery with soldiers under him and officers above him that he never seemed to second guess a comment or action. This confidence and comfort is part of the reason he had always seemed to be able to get others to feel how he wanted them to. His dynamic confidence led them to follow his emotions.

His confidence, however, did not necessarily apply to romantic interests. He had never been able to truly read or manipulate Constance until after their separation. Now he saw that same deficiency with Melody.

He had meant to say, "_nor are we engaged to be married_." Now he was second guessing himself. What did she think? Did she really know what he meant, or did she think he meant to say they were not seeing each other regularly? If he said they were not engaged, would she think he meant not to marry her? Did he want to marry her? His non-response dragged on from a brief moment to a long moment.

Had he not been involved in the situation, he would have found Mr. Stein's bemused and befuddled facial expressions rather amusing. However, in that moment, he was panicking, unsure of exactly how to respond.

"We are courting," he said, composing himself, before adding, "with her father's blessing."

Melody smiled. He could tell that was what she had hoped to hear. Of course, now their relationship was not only official, but it was public.

Although reassuring to her, this was a source of contention for Stein.

"I am terribly sorry to say this, sir, but I cannot allow you to sit for a photograph," Stein said slowly, looking down at the ground.

"Might I inquire as to why you have such a policy?" Melody asked with obvious annoyance in her voice.

"Miss, I operate a respectable business," he said. "You would be required to pose in exceptionally close proximity to this good officer. It would inappropriate at best, and full scandal at worst."

This answer secretly relieved Jasper. He was concerned about how Mr. Taylor would perceive such behavior on their date. Melody, however, was completely undeterred.

"In which case, I would like you to photograph him for me, and me for him," she said firmly.

"With all due respect, miss, I cannot accommodate this request. Such a request is almost as bad, and the implications are exactly the same."

"Pray tell, good sir," she began far more coolly, "would there be conflict if Major Whitlock was in Tennessee?"

Stein shook his head slightly, very obviously unprepared for any such proposition. "Such interrogatives do not apply."

"Of course they do," Melody said matter-of-factly. "If the good Major was stationed in Tennessee, he may well take it upon himself to go and pose for a photograph. Then, if he so desired, he could put said photograph in the post to me."

"And your point?"

"The end result is the same," she said. "I would be able to look upon my beau. What matter is that of the businessman?"

Stein did not like the answer he got, but he was at a loss of how to deny the logic. "It's still inappropriate," he finally muttered.

Jasper, on the other hand, was a very pleased spectator. He found her logic and sensibility quite endearing. "In which case, sir," Jasper said taking Melody's cue, "I do desire to pose for a photograph."

He really didn't want to pose. He was still sweating slightly from the combination of their stroll in the sun and his oppressively warm uniform. It was his enjoyment of Melody's rapier-like logic that made him want to watch the man squirm.

Stein huffed. "I still do not care for what you are doing," he said, finally acquiescing, "but there is no reason I cannot deliver your photograph to you."

"Outstanding," Jasper said, stepping forward. "Where shall I stand?"

Mr. Stein pointed toward the back wall of the room. There was a black curtain and a chair, which appeared to be all of the props available. Jasper obeyed and stood where instructed as Stein removed the chair.

"Hmm…," Stein mumbled to no one as he stepped back to take a look at the set up. "I do not like it. It does not fit your personality at all! I believe you should be sitting, Major…?"

"Whitlock, sir. Jasper Whitlock."

"Wonderful, sir," he muttered, again, most likely to no one in particular. Stein bustled back over and replaced the chair. As he walked back to his tripod, he was muttering something about the youngest officer he ever saw. Jasper chuckled to himself about this; he'd heard that same argument more times than he cared to acknowledge.

"Sitting comfortably?" Stein asked, but without really caring for a response. Jasper and Melody could tell that, in spite of his puritanical designs and condescension, he was more of a craftsman than a photographer. Stein was manipulating little things here and there to get the major's shot just right.

"You are too hot, sir. Unbutton your blouse, but from the bottom rather than the top."

Jasper obeyed.

"Hmm… now, rest your arm on the side of the chair."

Again, Jasper obeyed.

"Perfect," Stein finally sounded pleased. "Now, have you ever sat for a photograph before?"

"Twice, in point of fact," Jasper answered with a little confusion in his voice. He started to ask if it mattered, but Stein cut him off as he opened his mouth.

"Good, good. Then I don't need to remind you not to move, and that you should expect a bright flash, and all of that rot." Jasper was surprised by the sudden drop in professionalism, but he could not help but find this rather odd little fellow both amusing and somewhat endearing as a personality.

"Here we go," he said as cheerfully as he could.

Stein very carefully removed a cap from the front of the camera and within a few seconds there was a blinding flash. Almost immediately afterwards Stein replaced the cap and pulled a small glass plate from the box that was his camera.

"It shall be a short while before that will be developed into a photograph," Stain said brightly. "Now, would the lady care to stand for her photograph?"

As Melody was answering, there was a raucous uproar from outside. There horses were neighing loudly as a buckboard* came to an abrupt halt outside. Jasper turned around to see Captain Jacobs jumping out of the back of the cart holding something in his hand and running into the studio.

"Major Whitlock?" Jacobs asked loudly as he entered.

"Over here, Captain," Jasper answered from across the large room. "What ado justifies this ruckus?"

"Major Whitlock," the captain said, as he confirmed Whitlock's presence he instinctively threw his arm up into a salute that Jasper seemed to ignore. "Sir, I think you need to see this," Jacobs blurt out and shoving a newspaper into Whitlock's hands.

Jasper looked down to read the headline on the right hand side of the page:

_Governor Lubbock Second Guesses Galveston's General_

Jasper skimmed through the article, which consisted of unconfirmed complaints from supposed countless soldiers who disapproved of General Hebert's handling of the war and defensive efforts, concluding that Hebert must be the most unpopular general in the Confederacy. This was nothing that bothered Jasper. He understood that officers routinely had to make controversial or unpopular decisions. That was part of the unfortunate situation that befell them all.

Then Jasper came across the part that did cause trouble.

"Governor Francis R. Lubbock, in a public statement last night, pronounced General P.O. Hebert to be 'somewhat bewildered by the magnitude of the task assigned to him, and not to have matured…any definite line of policy.'"**

Jasper knew that this was going to be the part that ruffled the general's feathers. After all, complaints from amongst the rank and file are one thing, but Jasper had learned enough to recognize that to be so severely criticized by the governor of the state you are sworn to protect carries a lot power in political circles. In theory, state governors were equal in authority to President Davis. In a situation like this, it could spell the end of one's military career.

"When did this print?" Jasper asked with a certain urgency in his voice.

"It is from this morning's paper out of Houston. Someone threw it away after coming in off the train," the captain answered as fast as his mouth could push the words out. He seemed to understand the importance of this paper as well.

"Captain, what duties befall you this afternoon?"

"Nothing of dire consequence. I am at your disposal if needed, Major," Jacobs answered.

"I shall need nothing more than a quick ride back to the Gulf Star," he said before turning to Melody. "Alas, my sweet, in times such as these, there is no respite from duty. I shall call upon you again as soon as providence and opportunity no longer conspire to keep us separated."

"Then I shall expect you to call upon us for supper this very night," Melody said with all the authority of an officer herself. "I shall tell Fanny to prepare extra, so you best not disappoint."

She followed him to the door, where upon exiting, Jacobs climbed into the back of the buckboard, and Whitlock was right behind him. As they got into the cart, Jasper saw a man across the street, doubled over with his back to them, vomiting against a building.

"I might wager that is one of the supposed many illustrious, yet anonymous, soldiers who believe the general to be all gas and gaiters^," Jasper said with utmost derision. Jacobs chuckled at the sarcasm.

"Now Major Whitlock," Stein piped up, having followed them outside, "I need you to wait for this photograph, sir."

"Time is a luxury I do not have at the moment," Jasper said bluntly as he fished a couple of coins out of his pocket. He tossed them to Mr. Stein as he added, "I hope this will cover the costs. Alas, I believe you will have to deliver that photograph to the lady anyway."

Melody laughed at this while Stein turned and looked at her with a little disgust at the thought of the moral implications of giving her the picture. He then scuttled off back into his store. The driver shook the reins and off Whitlock and Jacobs went the few blocks to the hotel.

She watched until they disappeared, then Melody followed suit and went back into the studio.

"Where shall I stand?" Melody asked as she reentered the business, but realized as she spoke no one was there.

"Over by the chair, Miss," Stein's voice came from a back room she had not noticed before, "but I shall be another minute or two."

Melody took the time to look lazily about the studio. There were various and sundry prints framed and hanging as if to demonstrate Stein's mastery with a camera. Melody was underwhelmed. _How hard could it really be_, she thought, _just to let them stand there and have the machine do all the work_.

She heard multiple voices from the far room, but she could not make out the conversation. It was full of technical sounding words about developing the photograph from the plate. She doubted she would have understood any more of their words even if she could hear them clearly.

It was perhaps five minutes before Stein finally returned.

"I am terribly sorry for the delay, Miss," Stein said, beckoning her over to the staging area. "Please do come join me over here."

Like Jasper, Melody followed instructions and within a few moments was positioned and posing with her parasol for the camera. As before, he set the camera, exposed the lens, then quickly removed the glass plate, and hurried off to the secret room muttering something about returning quickly.

After three minutes by herself, Melody was just beginning to wonder how long Stein would be. It was at that moment he finally returned, but walked to the counter instead of over to her.

"Miss Taylor," he spoke brightly, as one might expect from a proprietor trying to keep pleasant customer relations. "I do hope you appreciate the fact that this process is not as fast as many hope. The photographs will be ready for you by the by. Perhaps an hour would suffice."

Melody nodded, but secretly believed this was little more than a ploy to avoid giving her Jasper's picture.

"Now," Stein continued, "you are welcome to wait here as long as is necessary, or you could return once the process is complete.

"I do believe I shall take a constitutional, then I will return. What is the cost?"

"Not to worry, madam," he said as if trying to soothe her. "The major paid more than enough for services rendered."

"So I should expect a refund as well?" she asked pointedly.

Stein delayed answering long enough that it was clear enough he was sizing up the exact measure of disdain for her attitude. Stein was from a different time, and far more Georgian than Victorian in attitude. To him, men and women should know their roles and place in society, and those lines were not to be crossed. Women as sharp-tongued and witty as Melody were not something he liked, nor was he accustomed to.

"His account will be settled justly," he said more curtly than intended.

"I do not doubt that. I believe I shall return within the hour."

They exchanges a polite farewell, then Melody made her departure. She had nowhere to go in particular. She decided to while away her time by walking along the boulevard. Occasionally she would wander into a store, if she found something particularly interesting. There was a brooch and necklace that had drawn her in to one store and a pocket watch she considered perfect for her father drew her into another. However there was a particular dress she found nothing short of enchanting which made her enter a third store. The dress was a blue and white floral pattern with pagoda sleeves, a tatted collar, and lace trimming. It was accented with a small hat, rather than a bonnet. There was nothing particularly impressive about the design, but it was a more fashionable version of her current attire. Melody was not sure, but believed it was the tatting she found so interesting, or was it the boning in place of a bodice. Melody did not ponder strenuously on the matter, but she certainly found the time look over the dress and consider having one made for her for casual wear.

As much interest as she had in perusing these merchandise shops along the boulevard, Melody had to withdraw herself and return to Mr. Stein's to pick up her photographs. Unfortunately, she had obviously taken a longer constitutional than she intended, because the studio was closed when she arrived. The door was shut and the curtains had been drawn.

_Surely I had not been away that long,_ she thought to herself.

Melody checked the time with a passerby. It was barely after four in the afternoon. She had taken longer than anticipated, but not so long that any businessman would close his door to a customer. She was disappointed, and bordering on angry. She could not stand the thought of being taken advantage of.

_This is no way to treat a lady or a customer_, she thought, practicing the speech she envisioned reciting to Mr. Stein the next day. _Anyone who pays for good or services in advance is entitled to that product, regardless of your personal beliefs as to their relationship status._

And so she continued in her head until she arrived home.

"Pumpkin," her father comforted, after kissing her forehead. "Fret not, and I shall call upon Mr. Stein in the morning."

Melody knew that he would not make any promises lightly. She knew that he would remedy the situation in a professional manner, and she also knew that it was useless to argue with him on the matter. However, she truly wanted to take care of the situation on her own. There was no need to appear a weak woman when she was not.

"Now," her father continued, "come into my office."

This was a rare treat. Ever the businessman, Mr. Taylor never entertained his family in his home office. That was reserved for any dealings that came before him professionally or politically. Melody truly could not imagine what warranted such a change.

She followed him into the office, where he picked up a medium sized parcel from his desk. It wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. He held it briefly, as if weighing it, before holding it out to Melody.

"One of my ships came in today, and Captain Hamilton brought this for you."

Harris Hamilton was one the first men her father hired when he started his shipping company. She had known him from her childhood, and she considered almost part of the family. He was like an eccentric uncle, and he occasionally brought her gifts directly from Europe. It started with a doll for her eighth birthday and only stopped recently when the blockade prevented. The gifts had always been wonderful and something as unique as it was entertaining.

Smiling, Melody took the package and felt it over, imagining what might be inside. The brown paper was thick, making it hard to determine what exactly was inside. It felt odd, as if ribbed.

"A box?" she said excitedly, before fiddling with the twine.

"Now, before you open it," her father began, "Hamilton said it was all the rage in France and growing in popularity in England as well."

Her father could not have kept the smile from his face even if he wanted to. He loved to see her so excited.

She worked off the twine and unwrapped the paper until finally they both saw a collection of five, leather bound books. They were red, and the gold lettering on the spine of the book read _Les Miserable – Victor Hugo_.^^

"If that is what is so popular in Europe, there is no question as to why I am out of fashion," Mr. Taylor said whimsically. "I'd rather read a ship's manifest anytime instead of that tome."

"Oh father, don't be that way," she teased.

"I know, I know... you have always shown an affinity for books and the make-believe. I do hope you enjoy them, in spite of the depressing title."

"If the continent considers this worthy of print, I doubt that I will find any objections to it," Melody said happily. "However, with five, full volumes, I shall require at least a fortnight to digest it."

At that moment, a light bell ringing informed them that dinner was ready.

"Then a fortnight you shall have," Mr. Taylor said guiding Melody back out into the hallway. "However, I must ask that you at least exercise enough patience to wait until after supper before you begin. After all, I heard so extensively about your dreadful experience with the photographer, I should like to hear more of your afternoon with Major Whitlock."

* * *

*Buckboard – a simply horse drawn cart specific to the American west. It was little more than a long, open box with a seat for the driver and passenger. It was distinctive because of the additional board at the driver's feet, which he could use to steady himself should his horse or horses buck… hence the cart's name.

**Actual quotation from Gov. Lubbock regarding General Hebert.

^Gas and Gaiters – a term that came from Dickens' _Nicholas Nickleby_ (1839). It originally meant a pleasant or fine situation, but quickly came to mean pompous and verbose. This latter usage is what was used to describe Hebert.

^^ _Les Miserables _was first published in early 1862, with the first English translation coming in June of the same year.


	28. Photographs Revisited

**A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! One more quick chapter. I hope y'all enjoy. Much love and admiration for MaleficentKnits for her tireless and amazing beta! Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. Everything else belongs to my overactive imagination. No copyright infringement is intended. **

* * *

August 19, 1862

The train pulled into Galveston Station at 11:36 in the morning. Albert Baldwyn waited patiently for other passengers to collect their effects and leave before he stood, collected his small bag, and headed toward the exit. He had delayed his return to Galveston longer than anticipated. He knew that Major Whitlock was safe and secure under the wing of an overprotective general and was not going anywhere. After his success catching bounty jumpers, Baldwyn had made a personal trip southwest, into the heart of Texas.

He had long desired to visit the Alamo. Baldwyn was surprised to see that the former Catholic mission had been retooled into a military fortress. The Confederate colors blew lazily in a gentle breeze over the Alamo as he looked at it from across the plaza. He made no attempt to get any closer, mostly because of the sentries and the fact that the plaza had been turned into a makeshift lot for carriages.

Although the infamous battle had occurred only 25 years before, it had already become a symbol of bravery, valor, and valiantly fighting the good fight. Albert Baldwyn considered himself locked in a similar battle. Only this time, in his mind, he saw himself to be the good guy. Unlike the fate of the Texas patriots, he would be the victor.

Perhaps he came to see the site of the great Texas Martyrdom to gain inspiration. Perhaps he came to tempt fate. Maybe he came to thumb his nose up at the battle he would not lose. Baldwyn didn't know the reason himself, but what he did know was that he felt a sense of accomplishment.

Following that visit, and sacrificing another week with loose women, he was finally ready to bring his personal mission to a close.

Baldwyn still used his cane, even though his limp was little more than an aggravation and barely noticeable. Truth be told, he would occasionally forget to carry it. He still liked to keep one on hand in place of his side irons.

It was nearing lunchtime and he was hankering for some local fare. Having been in Galveston on more than one occasion, Baldwyn knew just where to go for cheap food, beds, women, and, most importantly, cheap labor. He needed hired hands who work quickly and help him track down the major. However fortune and fate had a different plan.

Baldwyn seated himself at a table in corner of the restaurant on the first floor of his usual hotel. Planning to eat before reserving a room, he dropped his bag in the corner behind him and sat down with a newspaper he had not finished reading on the train. No sooner had he settled in to his seat than a young officer stepped up to his table.

"Mind if I join you sir?" the man inquired.

"Be my guest," Baldwyn responded kicking a chair out on the other side of the table. He placed his right hand on his sidearm. He was sure he had seen this officer before and a sneaking suspicion led him to believe trouble was going to ensue.

"I thank you, sir," he said sitting down. Then he offered his hand as if to shake. "Captain Haversham Jacobs."

"Matthew Stephens," Baldwyn lied. Knowing that he had to be careful, he used an alias he created in San Antonio after an altercation with a particularly feisty prostitute. He cautiously shook Jacobs' hand and quickly returned his hand under the table to his piece.

"My pleasure," Jacobs said as he took his seat. "I appreciate your indulgence, but I need a quiet place to sit."

"Is this corner somehow more quiet than the others?"

"Not particularly," Jacobs chuckled. "I am looking for someone in particular and do not want to be seen if I can avoid it."

"Ah, I see," Baldwyn had now moved from suspicious to nervous.

"It's nothing too serious," the captain said calmly. "I'm sure we will catch him soon enough."

Baldwyn quickly scanned his surroundings. He saw two more soldiers he had not noticed before. There was one in each of the corners of the room opposite from them. One had a pistol, but the other had a musket. This was far from subtle, and Baldwyn quickly saw his end coming.

_How did they find me so quickly? _he wondered.

"So, who is it you're lookin' for?" Baldwyn asked; his drawl slipping through because of his nervousness.

"No one of consequence, Mr. Stephens," Jacobs said. "There's no reason for you to be concerned."

"Perhaps not, but I'm mighty curious."

"It's just a local matter, largely unofficial," the captain said leaning forward and lowering his voice slightly. "There's someone who isn't supposed to be here who keeps showing up."

_That's all I need to know_, Baldwyn thought. He immediately started planning his escape. He was sure he could take the captain and the soldier with the pistol in the nearer corner, but he knew he lacked both the time and accuracy to hit the musket-armed soldier in the farther corner.

"So you think you're just going to walk out with this guy?" Baldwyn asked.

"That's up to him," Jacobs answered. "If he's willing to go quietly, everything will be hunky dory. If he wants to struggle… well… we don't want to think about any bloodshed.

"I'm sure we don't want to think about that," Baldwyn said bluntly before casually opening his newspaper. Once opened, he slowly withdrew his gun from its holster and he quietly placed it upon the table.

A waiter came by and asked for orders. Baldwyn was surprised when the captain casually asked for a beer. Not to be outdone, he ordered a whiskey, and the man scuttled off and returned in a few moments with their drinks.

"So what is worthy enough to be printed today?" Jacobs asked after taking a swig of his beer.

"Excuse me?"

"What's in the news?" he repeated. "I have not been fortunate enough to read a paper in a couple of days now."

"General information about the war," Baldwyn said, not really thinking about what he was saying. "I'm sure it's nothing you don't already know."

"Hmm…," Jacobs mumbled. "Is there any way I could talk you into letting me borrow the paper?"

_What is his game? _Baldwyn thought, _How in the hell does he know what I'm hiding back here?_

"If you don't mind, Captain," he said directly, "I am trying to read it myself."

"Fair enough, sir."

Baldwyn tried to hide his relief, but feigned interest in the words on the page while he continued to work out his escape plan. There they sat for a couple of minutes in silence. Baldwyn "read" and Jacobs sipped on his beer.

_There if I take the two shots, I can duck for cover until he squeezes off a shot from his musket. Then I can take him out. _Baldwyn planned. He tried to scan the other patrons of the restaurant to see if there were any vigilantes who might cause trouble.

The awkward silence between them seemed to grow as he continued planning. Then, suddenly, Captain Jacobs stood up and walked over to another patron three tables away. As the captain moved, Baldwyn watched as the two other soldiers slowly moved in behind the seated man.

He couldn't hear what Jacobs said, but he saw the unknown man sitting at the table look around, see the other soldiers, and his shoulders drooped. He stood up slowly and turned back toward the doors. Baldwyn then realized he was not the target. Relieved, he replaced his gun, folded his paper, and gulped down his shot of whiskey.

Three men went straight for the door, but Jacobs came back toward him.

"That went well, and I thank you for allowing me to hide back here with you," Jacobs said. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a couple of coins and threw it on the table. "Allow me to buy your drink to compensate for the inconvenience."

"It was no inconvenience, but I thank you, Captain," he said. "May I return the favor?" Baldwyn said holding up the newspaper. "I do believe I am done with it now."

Jacobs thanked him and departed. Baldwyn sat there for a moment breathing in sweet relief and then he ordered another shot. He paid for his drinks using the money Jacobs left and told the bartender that the captain failed to pay for his beer.

As he expected, fifteen minutes at the bar was enough time to find a few men unable to serve in the war effort. He promised five dollars to the first man to locate the major. They quickly departed and Baldwyn used that time to reserve a room. He left instruction that he was only to be disturbed by one of the men he had hired.

He settled into his room within minutes, but he was careful to inspect the layout. The window looked out onto a rarely used alley, which was all the better for someone wanting to hide. It was impossible for someone to observe him while in hiding. This meant he didn't need to be as careful, but there was no need to be foolish. He even reserved the room under his "Stephens" alias.

He was able to catch a short nap as it was shortly before three when the first scout returned.

"He hidin' in plain sigh'," the near toothless man said. "He only two block away, at de photographer."

"Outstanding," Baldwyn said handing the man one dollar. "You'll get the rest once I set my eyes on him. If you see the others, tell them to meet me back here after supper."

The hired hand was not satisfied, but he dared not argue with his temporary employer. Baldwyn's reputation preceded him, and most of the regular patrons of this particular hotel knew that he was not to be trifled with.

Baldwyn must have known this, based upon the sneer he shot toward the man. He collected his gray overcoat. He liked to wear it, in spite of the heat, as it hid his weapons so well. Because he was so well prepared, he left his cane behind as he left his room. Within a few minutes, he made his way the few blocks to the only photographer in the city.

Baldwyn was careful to approach from the far side of the street. He also knew that if the major was inside the shop, there would be no possible way to hide from him. However, he also recognized that the worst option was for him not to be there. His only chance of taking down Whitlock was by surprise. Going into the shop would make his presence known. Staying back and quiet was not just his best option, it was his only option. So, he leaned back against the side of the building he was standing in front of and lit a cigarette.

There he waited through one full cigarette, casually watching the sun creep slowly lower in the afternoon sky, but he still kept a cautious eye on the photographer. Horses bustled along the street drawing their carts behind them. The pedestrians were few and sporadic, but none seemed to be about any particular business.

Then, all of sudden, one horse-drawn cart was coming down the street faster than any of the others. Aside from the driver, there was an army officer in the back of the buckboard. Not just any officer, though.

Baldwyn knew him at once. It was the captain he had shared a table with a few short hours previously. The same man he had given the newspaper to and had even left responsible for a beer.

No sooner had the buckboard stopped than Captain Jacobs jumped out of the back and ran inside.

Baldwyn's mind was racing.

_What should I do now? _he thought, _surely Whitlock's inside… but he's got backup with him here…_

To make matters worse, Baldwyn was still trying to assess the situation when he heard their raised voices getting louder. In a rare moment in his life, Baldwyn actually went from nervous to full panic. A pit formed in his stomach. There was no way he had waited so patiently, so long, just to get caught now.

His emotions got the better of him, and he felt that pit welling up inside of him. It grew rapidly, to the point he couldn't control himself anymore. He turned, doubled over, and vomited down the side of the building and partially onto his shoes. It was a horrible feeling. He had just sabotaged his own efforts by drawing attention to himself.

Baldwyn was so disappointed that he couldn't bring himself to turn back around. He straightened himself up and waited for the inevitable… But it never came.

After a few worry-filled moments, he heard the horses start off almost at a gallop and the wagon start up with a loud jolt. He twisted his head and saw the pair of officers disappearing up the boulevard.

A wave of relief washed over him as he stood there. Baldwyn looked back over toward the store, where he saw a girl he recognized go back in with a man he could only assume was the photographer.

This changed things.

The major had obviously just sat for a photograph, and Baldwyn's mind was racing with new ideas for how to catch his prey. Although he didn't know her name, he remembered the woman had dined with Whitlock before.

_Clearly I cannot let her see me,_ he thought, _but she could be the key._

As he was finishing a second cigarette, the woman left the store and strolled up the boulevard. Baldwyn took this opportunity. He crossed the street and entered the photographer's studio. A bell above the door chimed as he entered, and within moments a little man popped out from a back room.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said cheerfully. "How may I be of service?"

"I'm coming in regards to Major Whitlock…" Baldwyn started.

"Oh, did he send you for the photograph?" the little man asked hopefully.

"Yes," Baldwyn lied. He had no clue what the man was talking about, but he couldn't resist such an easy cover for his being there. "Yes, of course, sir."

"Oh, wonderful!" he exclaimed, then he began speaking so quickly Baldwyn was having a difficult time digesting all that he was saying. "This really does help restore my faith in him as an officer. I mean, really! Who would ever just give photographs to a woman to whom he is not betrothed?"

Baldwyn simply nodded as if agreeing. He didn't really care nor did he want to. He simply was hoping to gain information. Unfortunately, this man's prattling was filled with everything but anything useful to him.

"So," the store owner said finally winding down, "it should only be another twenty minutes or so for Major Whitlock's photograph to be fully developed. Will you wait for it?"

"If you'd be so kind as to indulge me, I would indeed prefer to wait here."

"Certainly, sir," he said with a slight nod before turning around and toddling away back to the door from which he had appeared the first time.

The next twenty minutes passed as uneventful as possible. Baldwyn had hoped to fill his time by looking around the store, but that took no more than two or three minutes at most. _I'm sure these photographs are more interesting if you actually know these people_, he thought.

He further whiled away the time by listening to the shopkeeper speak with someone else in that hidden back room. Their conversation was largely technical sounding speech and lingo that he did not understand.

Baldwyn was bored and getting somewhat frustrated. The one thing that made him feel better was that no one had entered the shop in the time he had been there. If nothing else, this helped protect his anonymity in town. Finally, the shopkeeper finally returned after twenty-five minutes.

"Here you go, sir," he offered holding out a small photograph approximately three by five inches.

Baldwyn took it and examined it. He was completely unimpressed. He saw nothing but the man's cockiness and haughtiness. This made his rage toward the major boil just looking at it. Still, he couldn't repress a small smile. He liked knowing that he now had an image and a likeness to show the men would pay to get the drop on Whitlock. This would guarantee they got the right man.

"You do good work," Baldwyn said with feigned pleasure.

"Thank you very much, Mr…"

"Stephens," he lied again, extending his hand. "Matthew Stephens."

"Mr. Stephens," the photographer said shaking his hand, "I have to give you some change to return to the major. He paid enough for two copies."

"That's not necessary at all," Baldwyn said. "Please go home early today and keep the extra as payment for your troubles.

"That is mighty fine of you, Mr. Stephens," Stein said. "I shall certainly consider doing just that."

"I hope you will," Baldwyn said, as he tipped his hat. "Good day to you sir."

"And to you," Stein replied.

Baldwyn went quickly out the door and sidled furtively up the road and back to his hotel. He had only been back a few hours and things were moving along quite well. Albert Baldwyn's makeshift posse would be in his room in a few hours and he would be ready with a plan of attack. He had not yet decided how he would capture Whitlock, but he did know that it would not be a simple smash and grab job. He was going to toy with him and watch the major's downfall before the final confrontation.


	29. Beast

**A/N: It seems like half of the east coast is shut down due to snow, so here's a quick little chapter to entertain you on a snow day. Love to MaleficentKnits, as always. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Mayer; no copyright infringement intended. **

* * *

August 22, 1862

Albert Baldwyn was sitting with a small cohort of six men around a table in the back corner of his Galveston haunt. They were a collection of the local ne'er-do-wells, and each of them had managed to find some means of avoiding military service in the war. Among the six men was enough facial hair for ten men, but only enough teeth for four. Most of these men were professional drunkards, picking up whatever jobs they could so they could turn any wages into another bottle of anything, whether palatable or not. Two of them maintained regular work, but nothing important or noteworthy. Although Baldwyn could not confirm it, he suspected that none of these men had any significant relations in their lives that did not charge by the hour.

Secretly he preferred working with people like this. Any man willing to be paid off in vices will stop at nothing to satisfy his particular lust, and that meant he had unscrupulous men who were reliable because they wanted something far more important than money. To Baldwyn, the ends truly justified the means.

He sat patiently waiting as they passed around Jasper Whitlock's photograph. Each man made some snide comment about him, whether it was his hair, or his rank, or whatever insecurity made them feel better.

"Take a good look," Baldwyn finally spoke up over them men's chatter. "This is the man I want."

"Thit," spoke up one wiry haired man who was missing so many teeth he couldn't help but lisp half of his words, "thith ain't nobody thpethial. I'can take 'im by methelf."

They continued making jokes about Whitlock.

"And you are full of 'thit'," said another of the guests, mocking the first man's lisp, to a raucous uproar from the others. He then spoke to Baldwyn, "isn't this that bastard who killed a few of your last hires?"

This last comment quickly silenced the table.

Baldwyn looked around the table slowly. He took time to make eye contact with each man, individually, as if sizing them up.

"Yes," he finally said flatly.

All six of the guests began talking simultaneously, none of their comments distinguishable due to the barrage of noise. Baldwyn let them go at it for a moment before holding a finger up to his lips to silence them.

It took a few moments before they complied.

"I imagine your objections will be resolved when I admit my mistake."

"Pray tell," one of the men said quickly.

"Let me tell you a story, about when I was a lad in Missi'ppi."

Baldwyn grabbed his mug of beer and leaned back in his chair.

"My family had a dawg an' a cat," his started slipping into his natural drawl as he reminisced. "That dawg was a bitch, named her Bessie. Pops always said Bessie was a best blood houn' ya ev'r seen. I didn' care too much for her. I loved that cat though. I understood her. It's the only cat I ev'r seen chase a dawg, an' the dawg'd run for it.

"My sis called that cat Dixie, but that name never settled wit' me. I'd come home from workin' the field and Dixie woulda left some dead critter in front of the door. Some days it was a mouse or a squirrel. Hell, one day, there was a dead rabbit layin' there.

"I used to joke that Dixie was givin' us sacrifices, like what we learnt about in Sunday School. Then the idea came to me one day, 'hell,' I thought to myself, 'maybe it's tryin' to give us a warnin' that we were next."

The men all chuckled at this, and Baldwyn even had to pause while he choked back a laugh himself.

"Well, after that, I called that there cat Beast rather than Dixie. Boy… did she ever live up to that name," he said more as an aside than anything else.

"Well one day," he continued, "I was a comin' back from the fields and the cat was layin' there in the grass. I didn't even notice her until, all of a sudden, she jumped up… pouncing on something, pawin' at it. Then, just as suddenly, she lay back down and stretched out, like she was just soakin' up sunshine. Sure it was funny enough. Cat didn' pay me no mind while I was puttin' tools away, then up she jumped again and did the same thing all over."

Without him realizing it, Baldwyn's hands had become a part of the story. He had put down his beer and was sitting on the edge of his chair. His free hands were pawing at the table just like the cat in his memory.

"So I watched her. Lay back down. Stretchin'. Pouncin'. Beast did it at least three or four more times while I watched. Finally, I had to see what she was doin'. So I wen' over and there I saw it. It was a shrew… beaten up… nearly dead. I could see it breathin' real hard, bloody, but waitin'. It was waitin' for a time it could escape."

Then men were strangely rapt in attention at this absurd childhood memory. There was seemingly no point to it, and it was a rather silly story. Truthfully, Baldwyn looked rather odd acting out those little scenes, but no one seemed to care.

"After about a minute, that shrew must've thought it was safe and tried to make another break for it," he said with a little relish in his voice. "It took a few tentative little steps, and Beast didn't seem to really notice or care. Then, all at once, the shrew ran. Quick as lightning, that cat jumped up and pounced on it. Beast took a few swipes with her claws, and I could even hear that little shrew cry as it took its beatin'. Once it stopped movin' Beast seemed to stop paying it any mind. Then she just kinda stretched out and laid down. I stood there, watching for 'bout another minute or so, then that whole little show played out all over again. Only after a half hour did that cat finally do off that shrew."

Baldwyn paused, as if to let the story settle for a minute. He grabbed his beer, sat back in his chair, and took a couple of gulps of his beer.

The men all sat there, waiting for more. They glanced around at each other, trying to see if the others realized that the story was over, and they all came to a collective understanding that Baldwyn was, in fact, done with his narrative.

"What in the name of Satan's stubborn ass are you talkin' 'bout?" one of the men demanded.

"That was a waste of our time!" shouted another, while the remaining four grumbled.

Once again, Baldwyn had to quiet them using the silent "shush."

"You don't get it?" he asked no one in particular. "As a kid, it dawned on me that cat was playing with her food, just like any other kid."

A couple of men laughed, but one pressed for more of an explanation.

Baldwyn didn't answer to them immediately, though. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a couple of items. First he tossed a key to a woman none of the men had noticed approaching the table. She seemed taller than she actually was, had naturally curly brown hair, and wore a dress that advertised far too much cleavage; little was left to their imagination.

"The usual room," he said as she caught it with ease.

"I hope you have more than this for me," she teased.

Baldwyn laughed as he tossed her a dollar coin.

"That'll get you started," he said. "I'll be up in a minute."

She giggled before turning and strolling across the dining room to the stairwell that led up to the guest rooms.

"You all got a good look at Major Whitlock, right?" Baldwyn asked as he held up the photograph so they could see it one more time. Each man affirmed in his own manner.

"Well I ain't got her photograph, but Whitlock's got a 'Betty'. Find out what you can about her," he ordered before gulping down the final dregs of his beer and standing up.

"I know I ain't the tharpetht tool on the farm," started the lisper, "but I ain't that dumb either."

"Exactly," blurted another of the hired hands. "Thanks for the beer and all that, but what's all this with the major's girl and childhood stories?"

"Damn, you are thick bunch," Baldwyn muttered under his breath. "You really don't get it?"

He looked around the table and their blank faces confirmed his suspicion.

"I've tried to kill my quarry way too quickly… now I'm gonna to punish him in ways that he is not expectin'. I'm gonna hurt him when he don't see it comin', and I'm gonna let him bleed before the end finally comes. In short, I mean to play with my food."


	30. Dinner, Drinks, and Dessert

**A/N: MaleficentKnits is the coolest and awesomest beta ever. Just a quick reminder, Jasper Whitlock is intellectual property of S. Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. Everything else belongs to my sordid imagination. Oh, except Captain Nichols. He really existed. Unfortunately, my research hasn't told me anything about his personality, therefore that may or may not be historically accurate. Please bear in mind, no offense is intended to his fellow Texans. (Oh, Hebert existed too.)  
**

* * *

August 25, 1862

Less than a week after Albert Baldwyn's meeting with his collection of miscreants, General Hebert was hosting his own meeting. He had collected his corps of approximately 15 officers, mostly captains and lieutenants, for a catered dinner in his office. His purpose had been to try and unify the ranks against the rising tide of propaganda and misinformation that had been growing in recent weeks. It had become clear, even to the senior officers, that this was decidedly beginning to divide the ranks. While things started well enough, the dinner had grown less civil as it progressed.

"I hope you are not trying to throw me in with that lot," Captain Nichols protested. "I do believe I've made my feelings abundantly clear on the matter."

"That you have, but I find it difficult to make your arguments meet with genuine reason," General Hebert spoke over Nichols' complaints.

"I have stated it with such simplicity," Nichols sneered, "a child could not only understand it, but he could explain it himself."

"Is there really any reason not to have supported secession?" Captain Jacobs interrupted. "You certainly seem to wear your opposition and conversion like a brevetted general struts his stars."

"I trust you to keep a civil tongue in your mouth!" Nichols snapped. "You could be my son and, God as my witness, if'n he spoke to me in such a manner, I would cut out his tongue."

"It is woeful to hear such a response. I am beside myself to think that a man well off enough to buy his own army, and his own rank, has insufficient funds remaining to afford some manners," Jacobs retorted.

"GENTLEMEN!" Hebert said with such ferocity and authority that Nichols leaned back in his chair, when it seemed clear he was about to attack Jacobs.

This was not a conversation Jasper wanted to get in the middle of. He knew that his role as adjutant was to advise and assist; any opinions he offered would have to match the official position of the general. However, since Hebert was present, there was no need for him to speak.

If he had to take a position, Jasper would have backed Jacobs. This had little to do with the argument at hand or his friendship with the captain. Instead, it had all to do with his disdain for Nichols' condescension to everyone else. Nichols was accustomed to being an important, independent, and influential man. The military chain of command did not suit him as well, and it showed.

Jasper was, however, impressed with Jacobs' surprising forcefulness and offense. He suspected that it had always been there, hiding below the surface, but Jacobs had repressed it. Whitlock believed the sudden change in the captain's demeanor had to do with rank. This was the first time he had seen Jacobs disagreeing with a fellow officer of equal rank.

"I do not believe that we can be much more productive in this setting," Hebert spoke up again, once the room had silenced. "There is far too much anger and personal resentment."

Hebert stood up and walked slowly over to a cabinet behind his desk. He procured a single glass and bottle of scotch.

"Men," the general spoke as he poured himself a drink, "whether or not you were a devotee of secession matters little compared to where you stand now."

He looked around the room at the faces of his men, as if to let this message sink in.

"Let me put it in these terms… The United States of old is no more. It has been torn apart… ripped in half. Once this war is over, the United States will find it difficult, but essential, to pull itself up and shake off the loss of so much territory. These fledgling Confederate States, I fear, will tear themselves apart before it ever has the chance to truly fly. Arguing like animals will accomplish no more than tearing this nation in half… and it is incumbent upon the officers, the leaders, and the gentry to set the tone for our success."

Hebert took a long draw from his glass. He paused, as if savoring every bit of his scotch, but using that time to look each man in his eyes. Some avoided eye contact, while others stared back at him, fearlessly.

"We shall meet again soon," he said with a clear streak of sadness in his voice. "Dismissed."

No further cue was needed. The clatter of sliding chairs filled the room as the men dispersed.

"Whitlock," Hebert said, seemingly to no one, as the officers were shuffling out the door, "give me a minute."

Jasper stayed behind and the two men waited in an awkward silence as they waited for the room to clear. It took a few moments and the last man out, Lieutenant Anderson, shut the door behind him. Before they could speak, they could hear the raised voices of Captains Jacobs and Nichols continuing their disagreement from a few minutes before.

"That's a very appropriate serenade, Whitlock," Hebert said flatly. "Simply put, I need you to be my ears. There's an awful lot of scuttlebutt going on, but so little of it gets to me. I have to know what they are thinking and saying if I am going to be able to deal with the little fires that pop up hither and yon."

"Yes sir," Jasper said with a nod.

"Dismissed."

The general was still very cool toward Whitlock. The dynamic between the two men had changed dramatically. It seemed as though things went sour between them about the same time that public opinion worsened and tensions increased. Clearly Hebert had seen the proverbial writing on the wall, but what Jasper could not figure out was the reason for the general's reclusion. He could not explain why, but he understood that the general was attempting to insulate him from any negative political or career repercussions. That's what confused him even more. If Hebert had seen something this bad on the horizon, why had he not included his own adjutant in the process? Did he think that Jasper could not handle it? Or, even worse, was there a chance that something had happened that made Hebert believe he could no longer trust Jasper?

As much as these things bothered him, he need not worry about them at this time. Jasper had but one main concern at the moment, and it was nothing more than an echo of the very subject Hebert's addressed at dinner.

In spite of his delay, as he reached the hallway Jasper could still hear the conversations of the departing party of officers coming from the lobby. He hurried down the hallway and bounded down the main stairwell two steps at the time. The corps of officers had segregated itself into smaller groups of friends and like-minded associates, two of which were working their way to the exit. The major made sure to miss this opportunity as he pressed through to speak with particular individuals.

"Jacobs," Jasper said, approaching the young officer, "meet me for a drink posthaste."

The major's tone made it clear this was not a request.

"Yessir," Jacobs replied with a slight nod. He then excused himself from his conversation and headed toward the dining room.

Jasper turned on his heel and found Captain Nichols.

"Nichols," Jasper said with the same forwardness, "meet me for a drink."

"I thank you," the captain said with feigned sorrow, "but I shall have to decline respectfully said invitation."

"Then I apologize," Jasper said with all the authority and confidence he could muster. "I extended neither an invitation nor a request. I will meet you in a few moments time."

Jasper did not wait for a response, but even with his back now turned he could sense the captain's contempt and derision. This, in all honesty was the singular character flaw that Nichols possessed. He was a successful and well-accomplished man who was highly respected in the community. In spite of his initial opposition to secession, he had become a supporter of it. In some regions of the Confederacy, this was of little consequence, but in more metropolitan areas secluded from actual combat, such distinctions had found a way of magnifying themselves to become issues of great concern.

Those who had always supported secession typically saw themselves as more patriotic than those who had not. Jasper saw this as nothing more than an attempt to establish two classes of citizens: a loyal class and a reluctant class. This was the very issue he hoped to address.

Entering the restaurant portion of the hotel, Jasper passed Jacobs and went directly to the bar. He ordered a bottle of tequila and three glasses. The barkeep retrieved the bottle and the trio of shot glasses, and Jasper rewarded him with a full dollar's tip.

Turning to go join Jacobs, Jasper saw that Nichols was still standing in the doorway concluding whatever conversation he should have finished already. Jasper sat and poured shots for the three men and waited silently until Nichols finally arrived.

"I don't care for a drink this evening, Major Whitlock," Nichols said as he arrived at the table. "Therefore I do not see the benefit of joining the pair of you socially."

"Wow…," Jacobs muttered. He said it under his breath, but clearly meant to be heard. Nichols turned his head and sneered at his colleague.

Jasper sat there quietly, patiently waiting for Nichols to sit. This seemed to be completely lost on the captain who stood there glaring at them.

"With your permission, Major… I shall be off," Nichols said before turning around.

Jasper responded by kicking the chair opposite him out from under the table. The sound of the chair startled Nichols, who turned around to see that Jasper had his hand held out, motioning for him to sit. He did so reluctantly.

Whitlock took a shot in one fast gulp before slamming down his glass and refilling it. Jacobs, assuming this was a silent order followed in turn. Nichols, however, sat there ignoring the glass in front of him.

Jasper refilled Jacobs' glass before speaking.

"Gentlemen," Jasper began, "and make note I use that term loosely at the moment, I have asked to speak with you this evening for a purpose."

"What a relief," Nichols interrupted in a clearly audible whisper.

"I should like to call you brethren," Jasper said, ignoring the comment, "for that is what we must be at this delicate time. Yet, for some inexplicable reason you two insist on acting like children."

"I am about to be lectured on the topic of maturity from a child half my age?" Nichols interrupted. "This is worse than ironic. Do you realize the insult you do to me? I am more than twice your senior, but you would have some great nugget of wisdom that is going to make me become a better person?"

Nichols was getting increasingly animated and pointing directly at Whitlock by this time.

"Rank aside, child, you could do me no greater insult."

"But rank is NOT aside, _Captain Nichols_!" Jasper said with a force and authority that Nichols had never seen before, and it startled him. "You may not care for me, and you may find my combination of youth and rank offensive, but I'll be goddamned if you will speak to me that way again."

Jasper sat there, staring into Nichols in a way that made the captain uncomfortable. Jasper wanted to down another shot of tequila, but he didn't want anyone to think he only had liquid courage.

"Now, I have asked you two to join me for what I hoped would be a friendly drink and a frank discussion about what the hell happened upstairs. Nichols, you have your own men under your command, and Jacobs, you are now in charge of all the batteries on Pelican Island. Each of you carries favor with your men and they feed off your emotions. If we cannot be brothers in this cause, and instead fight like children amongst ourselves, we will poison the very well from which we all drink."

Jasper paused and looked from one man to the other, but neither of them appeared ready to speak first. "Jacobs, what is your issue with Nichols?"

Jasper finally took that shot he wanted.

Jacobs, too, emptied his glass, but only as a stalling technique.

"I can guess…" Nichols began before being cut off by Jasper's glare.

"That is the very issue!" Jacobs blurted. "You have nothing but contempt for those who lack your status of age, wealth, or social influence… and you strut like the biggest cock in the henhouse as if the rank of Captain is below you."

"Quite frankly it is below me!" Nichols was anything but defensive as he spoke. "I help run the biggest city in this state, but I am expected to answer to an incompetent general and a child whose voice has barely dropped. Why should I expect to answer to them?"

"With an attitude like that, I have not the words to express my gratitude that you are not a major or a colonel," Jacobs spat back. "You do not grasp the concept of rank, and I daresay you do not grasp the concept of this war! Tell me, _CAPTAIN_, did you come to support secession out of an intellectual conversion or out of social and political prudence?"

"That is purely of my own concern, and certainly not an affair with which you need to be concerned."

"Wonderful," Jacobs said, this time taking a sip rather than his full shot. Nichols' glass remained untouched. "You remain as thoroughly unconvinced to the cause but somehow expect to be a leader within it!"

"Tell me, Jacobs, how do you define the term 'United States'?"

"What in God's name are you on about?" Jacobs asked incredulously. Jasper too was confused and intrigued by this question.

"Is 'united' a noun or an adjective?"

"This is neither preparatory school, nor is it a grammar lesson," Jacobs began before getting cut off.

"It's a simple point," Nichols said leaning forward in his chair. "I always understood it to be a noun. These are the _United States of America_. All nouns! As such, something as simple as grammar has bound us together as one nation."

"If, however, 'United' is an adjective," Jasper spoke up following the logic, "that would mean once the states are no longer united in cause and purpose the dissolving of said government would be not only legal, but the natural progression."

"Exactly!" Nichols stated triumphantly. "A situation such as that would only lead to anarchy, and states could come and go as they please, thus making a mockery of everything the Framers stood for!"

"Well now, that is quite debatable," Jacobs piped up.

Thus so their debate continued. It was an intense discussion of political theory and historical interpretations of the origins of the American Constitution and the intent of the Founding Fathers. Their anger and frustration slowly melted away to a mutual understanding, but not respect. While the two captains likely would never see eye to eye, Jasper was actually enjoying the discussion. In fact, he was thoroughly intrigued and an active listener throughout. The son of a poor, white farmer, Jasper Whitlock never had the advantage of a formal education. Yet here he sat with two college-educated officers who likely engaged in discussions like this as routinely as he had worked in the fields.

Before any of them had realized it, more than an hour and a half had passed. Jasper had finally sipped his shot glass dry. Nichols' first shot, on the other hand, still sat untouched in front of him. Jacobs, however, was finishing his fourth, and the effects of the alcohol were finally showing. It would likely have been Jacobs' slight inebriation that would have ended the night's discussion had they not been first interrupted by a rather buxom, and somewhat inappropriately dressed, redheaded woman approached their table.

"Jasper, darling," she interrupted, "the gentleman at the desk said you didn't leave a key for me."

The three men looked up, each of whom was surprised by this intruder, Whitlock most of all.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I do believe you have the advantage over me," Jasper said with genuine surprise.

"Oh nonsense," she teased. "You told me that you had a meeting tonight and that you would leave a key at the desk. How else would I get into your room."

All three men were reacting differently to their surprise. Jacobs, giving into the alcohol, was giggling, but also goggling at the woman's half-exposed breasts. Whitlock looked like a man mistakenly being bound by law, which was close enough to the truth. It was the completely sober Nichols who shocked them all with his anger.

"Leave us be, whore!" he suddenly shouted.

The woman smiled slyly, as if she knew a secret.

"That's no way to speak to a lady," she said coyly.

"And you, madam, are no lady!" Nichols demanded. "You know your place, and it is anywhere but here!"

"Oh, I do know my place," she said smiling, "and sometimes my place is at your place."

"HOW DARE YOU MAKE SUCH ACCUSATIONS?" Nichols shouted so loudly that the few remaining patrons turned to look.

She leaned in closely and whispered just loud enough for the men at the table to hear, "I do not have to make such accusations. I do not even have any proof," then lowering her voice a little lower added, "but I could tell them the things your wife refuses to do."

All the color drained from Nichols' face. In that awkward silence he picked up the shot glass, drained the tequila in one gulp, and quickly reloaded for another go.

"Now," she said turning back to Jasper and raising her voice to an inappropriate volume for the restaurant, "do you want to give me your room key or not?"

"Lady," Jasper said raising his voice as he stood up, "I do not know who you are, and if you think I have requested your _services _you must be crazy as a loon, and you best be on your merry little way. Go have this conniption fit elsewhere."

"Now there's no need to be like that," she said stepping closer to him. She attempted to put her hand on his chest, but Jasper stepped back as she approached.

"I mean to tell you that I have never put my hands on a lady in any manner that was inappropriate, but if you continue with this nonsense, I'm going to have to reconsider that notion mighty quickly."

"If you changed your mind," she said sweetly, looking around the room as she spoke, "all you had to do was say so. I can make my money elsewhere."

"Depart hence, before I have you removed," Jasper demanded.

The stranger simply smiled, bowed sarcastically, and added a thickly drawled "yessir" before turning around and leaving. Jasper watched her until she was not just out of the room, but out of the lobby as well. He then looked around the room to see that all eyes were on him. As if the embarrassment of such a scene was not enough, the last person he laid eyes on was none other than Miss Constance Austin, whose eyes shone like a spoiled child on Christmas morning.

He let out very dejected sigh and sat down.

"I know what this week's camp canard* is going to be," Jacobs said with a laugh.

"What in the name of all that is holy was that all about?" Jasper asked rhetorically.

The fact Whitlock did not expect an answer was good since no one was in a condition to give one. Jacobs had allowed himself another shot after the scene played out and Nichols had caught up on his consumption.

"Two things, gentlemen," Jasper spoke up. "Firstly, I expect you two to act better with each other. Secondly," he said standing up and grabbing the bottle, "I paid for this, and I intend to dispatch the remainder of it with utmost haste."

Whitlock excused himself and went for the exit. As he went, he stole a glance toward Connie, who was staring back at him, while talking excitedly with the three other people at her table.

"If Tex could ride as fast as she can gossip," Jasper muttered to no one, "I could be in Richmond tomorrow."

He took a swig of tequila as he entered the lobby, where he made a left turn for the grand staircase, and a beeline for his room. Once there, he stripped down to his skivvies and drank until he could remember no more.

* * *

*Camp canard – rumors or tall tales that spread around camp.


	31. Evolution

**A/N: This is a heavy chapter with a lot of history. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer, but everything else here belongs to history. No copyright infringement intended. Much love to my incomparable and irreplaceable beta MaleficentKnits!**

* * *

August 29, 1862

"There's a gentleman caller, for you miss," Mamie announced after rapping lightly upon the door.

"Oh," Melody breathed, startled. "Thank you, Mamie," she said to the young house servant.

"Yes, miss," she said with a curtsey and saw herself out and down the hall.

Melody had been reading _Les Miserable _continuously since receiving the gift, and was already nearing the end of the second volume. Her time spent outside of the books had been devoted to either her father or Major Jasper Whitlock, who she finally felt with comfortable admitting that she was courting. He had finally arrived at the Taylor home to call upon her for the evening. Looking up at the French clock on the bookcase she saw that the time only half past four.

Jasper's arrival was earlier than anticipated, but Melody neither worried nor cared. She had not seen him since the previous weekend due to increased tensions and responsibilities. She didn't know what was going on, but she could sense his concerns the last time they met, and she even sensed his distraction in the two letters he had sent her that week.

Melody rose from her chair in the study and could not help but smile. There was an unintentional bounce in her step as she strode down the wallpapered hallway toward the study. She stopped at a mirror in the hallway in order to check her hair, which she played with slightly, teasing it with her hands. It made no difference; her hair was already perfect, but she did not notice that any more than she did the light beads of sweat she had from the late summer heat.

Melody practically skipped over to the parlor and bounded through with more excitement than intended.

"Well, I am most certainly excited that you came by earlier than planned…," she stopped speaking as she saw a man she did not recognize.

"Thank you very much, Miss Taylor," said a young man as he rose to his feet. Melody did not know all of the ranks, but she could tell by his uniform that this man was an officer. He was a blonde-haired man and slightly shorter than her. Had she looked more closely, Melody would have noticed that his shave was so fresh, his chin and mouth were paler than the rest of his face.

Melody was so surprised that she stood there for a moment with her mouth agape at her shock, not knowing what to say to the stranger.

"I thank you for allowing me to call upon you in such an untraditional manner…," he trailed off to give her a moment to react. "I did not request your father's blessing before coming, which might be cause for some concern…," again he trailed off.

"I believe you have the advantage over me, sir, for I know neither your name nor your face," Melody said, attempting to sound calm and casual, as a lady should.

"I do apologize, of course, Miss Taylor," he said shaking his head and standing a little more upright. "Lieutenant Danforth Bryant, at your service."

He bowed his head, and Melody gave a slight curtsey.

Then the silence hung there between them… awkwardly.

Twice Melody opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The same thing happened to him at least once as well.

The awkwardness of the moment grew, and both of them recognized how silly it was to be standing in silence for more than a minute, but neither of them really knew what to say.

"You flatter me with your interest, Lieutenant," Melody finally forced out. "Perhaps it is you are unaware that I already have a gentleman suitor."

"Oh?" Bryant said with slight surprise. "Well, this is most impolite of me," he said before turning to collect his slouch hat.

"Please do not worry," Melody said, with utmost sincerity. "It has not yet really been announced."

"Perhaps I was mistaken, but I expected the announcement to come in the other direction," he said matter-of-factly.

"Excuse me?" she asked with as much irritation as curiosity.

"I mean to say, Miss Taylor," he paused, as if looking for the right words, "Understand, I do believe that most of us already knew about Major Whitlock courting you."

"…and?" she prodded.

"Excuse me?"

"You said the announcement would have been the other way, did you not?"

"Those are not the exact words…"

"Lieutenant," Melody interrupted, "would you be so kind as to focus on the meaning rather than the words?"

He paused and breathed deeply before answering.

"Just as the men all seemed to know that Major Whitlock had been calling upon you," he paused again. "Well, if I may be so bold, I do believe that many of us had likewise assumed you had called off your courtship."

Melody could feel herself flush. She was growing angry but, as of yet, did not know why.

"What business is it of yours whether or not we are still courting, and," her voice was rising slightly, "what might make you think that we have called off our courtship?"

"I believe you are correct in reprimanding me, Miss Taylor. I should not have been so bold as to call upon you without either your father's blessing or an announcement from you and…," Lieutenant Bryant trailed off. "I have taken up too much of your time, Miss Taylor. I should excuse myself from this interruption."

Melody quickly stepped to her left, blocking her visitor's path. She could not bring herself to accept such an answer, and she was not prepared to let him escape with no more than he had already said.

"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" she asked with even greater force in her voice.

"Miss Taylor, I do not mean to cause you any distress," he was stalling, still not wanting to speak. "Lest I cause any further concern, perhaps it would be best if I departed."

"Lieutenant Bryant, you came here with the intent of calling upon me as a suitor. Per your own admission, you were aware of my courtship with the major. However, you seem to consider yourself in possession of some knowledge that would give cause for one to believe that our relationship should have ended. Now, you will answer my question," Melody spoke with a fire inside of her that made it clear to the guest that skirting the issue was not a viable option.

"Yes, miss," he said clearing his throat. "Please bear in mind I attempted to spare you of any pain before I speak."

He paused, as if giving her one more chance to back down. Melody responded by crossing her arms across her chest; a clear indication of her resolve.

"Simply put, Miss Taylor, it's the prostitutes," he said bluntly. "For nearly a week now Major Whitlock has been entertaining such unsavory ladies at all times of the night. Each morning a new woman is seen descending the stairs from the second floor. The tales are spreading amongst the ranks regarding the major's seeming insatiable desires and we have come to marvel at what must assuredly be either unlimited funds or unlimited prowess."

He stood there for a moment, as if allowing his words to sink in. The change in her eyes alone indicated to him that she had indeed heard him. He also knew that he could leave without any resistance.

"I hoped to spare you the disappointment you are no doubt feeling at this moment. I did not want to say it, and I doubt that you wanted to hear it. Nonetheless, you chose to have this conversation. And now," he said with a finality in his voice, putting his hat on and stepping towards the door, "I bid you good day."

With that final comment, Lieutenant Danforth Bryant walked around Melody, accidentally brushing her slightly as he passed.

Melody did not hear the door close behind her. She did not notice that he had brushed passed her. She did not even feel it.

At that moment, however, she felt everything else: disappointment, shame, worry, regret, embarrassment, denial, and darkness.

She could not understand what all of these feeling were, nor could she even begin to comprehend them all at that moment. What she did know, however, was that each of these descriptions could be summarized in one simple word: pain.

Melody struggled to breath under the weight of this accusation. She could not know of a surety without confronting Jasper. She wanted to know. She _needed_ to know. But she could not bring herself to go anywhere. Rather than struggling with her feet, Melody simply sat down… not in a seat or on the divan. She gave up and dropped to the floor. She didn't cry. She wouldn't cry. She knew she was stronger than that. She congratulated herself on that fact, as the tears welled up in her eyes.

Entering the Gulf Star Hotel, Major Jasper Whitlock pulled his pocket watch out of his blouse and confirmed the time.

4:13

_Perfect timing_, he thought to himself.

During an earlier lunch appointment that he had, Jasper received a hand written note from General Hebert, requesting his presence that same day at a quarter past four.

This was nothing out of the ordinary. Most Fridays Jasper offered some kind of end-of-week report on the state of the regiments and defenses. Only a couple of months previously Jasper had been in high hopes for the continued improvement of the batteries' and island's defenses. However, he had witnessed the attempts at strengthening Galveston Island and the harbor all go for naught. These failures to improve were the end result of various issues they had faced: infighting, poor supplies, weak discipline, and the growing opposition toward, and from, General Hebert himself.

Jasper hated to admit it, but he knew that the island was not making satisfactory progress, regardless of the efforts put forth by him and the General. The one thing that Jasper hated to admit more than that was something that he had thought for a while, but never uttered out loud.

_What if Hebert really was unfit for this command? _

Jasper shook off that thought one more time as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. This meeting was most likely in regards to the order he had received on Monday to keep an ear to the ground for rumors. It was the most logical conclusion.

"Afternoon, Sergeant," Jasper said entering the ante-chamber where Sergeant McAdams' desk sat. "I have a 4:15 with the general."

"Ah, Major Whitlock," McAdams said standing to offer a salute. Jasper returned the salute casually as he strode toward the door to the general's office, but something in the sergeant's eye gave him pause.

"Is there a problem, Sergeant?"

"None, sir," McAdams started. "However, he asked that you wait for him."

"Of course," Whitlock offered. This was unusual given their history and previous ignoring of protocol.

Jasper was left alone to his thoughts for a moment while the sergeant disappeared into Hebert's office. Within moments his mind began replaying every interaction with the general in recent weeks. Their relationship, both professional and personal had grown tepid at best, and there were clear indications that Hebert was withdrawing. Now he was required to wait and be announced for an appointment set by the general himself. All of this may have been formal protocol, but Jasper still knew and understood that something was amiss.

"He will see you now, Major Whitlock," McAdams announced as he returned, breaking Jasper's train of thought.

Obediently, Jasper stepped forward and crossed the threshold into General Hebert's office. Immediately, he knew something was off. The maps Hebert kept on the table by the window on the far side of the room were still there, but not in their normal position. It was as though they had been placed decoratively rather than studiously looked over. Some of the general's personal effects and knick knacks were missing from their perches throughout the office: the deer antler handled knife was no longer on his bookshelf, his honorary plaque from Louisiana State Seminary of Learning & Military Academy*, and even the miniature perfume bottle of hot sauce that used to sit on the desk was gone.

That was not all. Even the general himself radiated oddness. He stood behind his desk as Jasper entered the office. Hebert was in full dress uniform, all the way down to his saber, gold sash, and custom "CSA" belt buckle. He even had an oddly shaped, plumed top hat sitting on his desk. Jasper felt horribly under dressed for whatever the occasion was. He had a growing suspicion, but did not want to speculate until Hebert said something.

"Whitlock," Hebert said in an unusually calm tone of voice, "please sit."

"Thank you, sir," Jasper said as he made his way over to the seat he had occupied so many times across from the general.

Hebert did not sit, however, he walked over to the window and looked out over the bay.

"The goddamn fools have no clue what they are doing," he mumbled as if wanted to say it, but didn't really want to be heard.

Jasper sat quietly, waiting for his cue to speak.

"Whitlock," he began before pausing pensively. "Whitlock, there is a reluctance to do anything here to truly protect this coast. It is a sitting duck should the blockade give way into a siege or a full frontal attack."

"There may well be challenges, sir, but I can assure you our men will fight valiantly to protect our native soil," Jasper assured. "If I may, sir, I should personally commend Captain Jacobs. He has worked closely with each of the men who are stationed in the batteries upon Pelican Island. He has their trust and their loyalty."

Hebert sighed, but did not speak.

"Likewise, Captain Nichols' men possess a loyalty nothing shy of rabid. We will stand our ground."

The silence remained as Hebert reached up and twisted the latch to open the window. A light, but warm breeze wafted through the room and carried upon it the faint sounds of the late afternoon: seagulls called after each other, hooves clopped upon the cobblestone a block away, and the occasional shout of some otherwise lonely dock worker.

"Your instincts are true enough," Hebert finally spoke up, "but in all of your eloquence, you still miss the crude, but obvious, facts."

Jasper waited, but the General did not elaborate.

"If I may be so bold, sir, what obvious fact have I been so obtuse as to overlook?"

"Are you a man of science?" he asked suddenly.

Jasper was taken aback. He had not expected such a question and was unsure how to answer it. In the few seconds before he could gather himself for an adequate response, Hebert had turned on his heel and crossed the room.

"General," Jasper began, "while I confess my curiosities in the field, I must likewise admit to my deficiencies in the subject matter. Indeed, I find the sciences of great intrigue, but would look the fool should I ever attempt to discuss the subject directly."

"Then I shall give you a word I should expect you to remember," the general said pulling a book off of the shelf. He held the book gingerly, as if holding a newborn chick.

"Evolution," he said simply.

"Sir?" Jasper asked after a brief, but awkward pause.

"Evolution. That is what you need to remember," Hebert repeated before handing the book over to Jasper.

The major looked at the book, but its cover was blank. He opened to find the title page, which read:

_On_

_The Origin of Species_

_By Means of Natural Selection,_

_or the_

_Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle For Life._

_By Charles Darwin, M.A.**_

"This is the latest in scientific theory," Hebert continued, "and I expect you to understand the concept of evolution."

"Forgive my ignorance, sir," Jasper began, "while I understand the word 'evolution' I do not know what you mean by this as a scientific theory."

"Per your own admission Major, this is a relatively new realm, so I shall put it simply: everything changes. While this theory looks at this on the large scale, over the course of hundreds and thousands of years, I look at this theory on the small scale.

"What I mean by that is," Hebert leaned in close and lowered his voice slightly to add importance to his words, "you will change. Jasper Whitlock, you will not remain who you are forever. There will come a time you will become something different, someone different. This change may occur slowly, or it may happen rapidly, but just as Darwin theorizes about various species of animals, I so theorize about people.

"For you, Whitlock, I see a great change coming. You will be bigger, stronger, and more important than you are now. Mark my words, that day may well come sooner rather than later, and just like this theory states, when those changes come, there will come a natural selection, much like the Rapture. Those who are predisposed to greatness will rise to the top, while the rest shall fall by the wayside and be pushed out and forgotten."

"Sir," Jasper interrupted, "I thank you for the book and the kind words in regards to my personality, but I do not see the point in all of this."

Hebert sighed.

"It's all about evolution, Whitlock." He turned and walked back over to the window. "I've changed, Whitlock, I have evolved. And apparently into something not worth keeping around."

"I'm sorry?" Jasper asked without realizing he had even spoken.

"I'm being reassigned. Apparently I have changed to the point that I am no use as a commander anymore. I have failed in my local diplomacy to the point that I have convinced enough people that my incompetence outweighs my usefulness. I am therefore being shuffled off to command some subdistrict in Monroe, Louisiana."

Jasper started to speak, but was cut off by a knock at the door and McAdams entering.

"Sir," the sergeant interrupted without asking for permission, "General Holmes has arrived on time, and is waiting for your 4:30 appointment."

"Send him in immediately, sergeant," Hebert ordered.

"Yessir," he said before disappearing, but did not shut the door behind him.

Through the opening, the two officers could hear Holmes' footstep. Jasper stood quickly and snapped to attention, as did Hebert.

Moments later, a rather crotchety looking older officer entered the room, and Whitlock and Hebert saluted in unison.

Lieutenant General Theophilus Holmes was a son of North Carolina. His ebony hair belied his age. The deep ruts of his emaciated cheeks and dark circles under his eyes showed his true age rather than his lush hair color. He carried a stare that bore through you and left the notion that he was not a man to be trifled with. Early in the war, he made a name for himself as a competent commander in Virginia, but he had since been relegated to command the Trans-Mississippi Department of the war. This post oversaw all operations in Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and the Indian Territories. Hebert himself had held this post for one month as an emergency assignment before being sent to Galveston. Another general filled that post before President Davis settled on Holmes.

"I see you maintain that pretentious hat you loved so much," Holmes said returning their salutes.

"Sir," Hebert said with a slight nod before holding out his hand toward Jasper as if Holmes had missed seeing him in the room, "this is Major Jasper Whitlock. He has been fulfilling duties faithfully as my adjutant these few months…"

"Yes, I have read much about him from various reports," Holmes said flatly interrupting Hebert, "and I daresay his already stellar reputation may well be better received if the officer he served under was only as competent."

Hebert glowered at the insult, but knew better than to speak.

"You have accomplished much in your days, Paul," Holmes continued, as Jasper stole a glance at Hebert to see how he handled being called by his first name. His look soured slightly. "But the fact remains, you are not a strategist and have failed to prepare, or protect, Texas for battle."

"You ask the impossible, Holmes," Hebert retorted.

Jasper felt exceptionally awkward standing at attention as his superiors were getting personal. Hebert, only a brigadier general, was simply using a surname even though Holmes, a Lieutenant General, outranked him.

"The impossible?" Holmes said caustically. "What is so impossible about defending this coastline?"

"Do you see what you have done with my requests?"

"Of course I have seen what I can and cannot do. If anyone should speak about the impossible, it should be me looking at your requisitions."

Jasper now felt very out of place. He had been the one writing requisition requests and submitting them to Hebert.

"Texas is but one state of this Confederacy," Holmes continued, "it is NOT the Confederacy. We cannot supply one hundred fifty cannons just to fulfill your fancy."

This caught Jasper's ear, however. He had never requested anywhere near that many. In fact his requisition requests never asked more than three dozen cannons.

"What do you expect me to defend the second largest coastline of the country with? There are not enough muskets to sink a navy."

"But General Hebert, sir, we have received a few cannons," Jasper interrupted boldly.

"Ah, good point!" Holmes exclaimed. "Where did those come from?"

Hebert paused slightly before answering.

"I reassigned those guns from Corpus Christi while I negotiated with Holmes for a reasonable amount of artillery."

"Robbing Peter to pay Paul," Holmes smiled before adding, "forgive the pun, Paul."

"Corpus Christi is not a viable target now," Hebert defended, "Galveston and Houston are! A real general would remember his battlefield roots, but I see you are just an office lackey."

"And you are nothing more than a goddamned politician!" Holmes roared. "If you had focused on your job instead of acting like a governor you would not have left Texas in such a position."

"We can defend this city," Hebert began before Holmes cut him off again.

"You could not stop a strong wave any more than you can stop this transfer!"

Holmes spoke with such force and finality that everyone in the room knew the conversation was now over. Those words hung in the air for a moment and were slowly replaced by the same late afternoon sounds, through the open window, of seagulls and horses clopping along the Strand.

Eventually General Holmes spoke up again, although Jasper had no clue how long it had been.

"I have requested a replacement for you and," Holmes sounded calm again, "if my ear to the ground is correct, I have reason to believe John Magruder will land here in your stead, but that may well be a month away."

"While I do not expect a reprieve," Hebert spoke more calmly than Jasper anticipated, "What shall we do until he arrives? I have full confidence in Major Whilock…"

"I doubt not his abilities, but I doubt your judgment," Holmes spoke flatly. "I could no more leave him in command than I could promote him. Instead, I am bringing in a couple of colonels from Houston. Their combined leadership will wash away any vestige of your command."

Hebert reddened in anger at this comment.

"Calm down, Paul," Holmes spoke genuinely, "that was not intended as a slight against you. It has been made clear you have taken him under your wing as a protégé. Surely the politician in you understands that if I left Whitlock in command, temporary though it may be, the collective howls of the unhappy masses will claim he is following in your footsteps."

Hebert knew he was right. Jasper could have ignored all precedent and started afresh, but the masses that had seen fit to rail against him would do the same to anyone as close as Jasper was.

"Understood, sir," Hebert relented. "I shall speak for Major Whitlock and say confidently that he will do everything in his power to assist in the transition."

Jasper nodded, confirming the offer.

"Wonderful," Holmes said before turning and heading to the door. He opened it, but did not exit. Instead he said something inaudible to someone in the ante-chamber and turned back around.

Suddenly, in walked two officers, each man wearing the three stars of a colonel on his collar.

"Colonel Xavier Debray of the Twenty-Sixth Cavalry and Colonel Joseph Cook of the First Texas Heavy Artillery," Holmes announced. Each man nodded with his introduction. "They will officially assume command on Monday morning, but time is not a commodity you have to waste," he said to everyone before turning to Jasper, "Major, I trust you had no plans this weekend which might take precedence over this transition."

"Of course not, sir," Jasper lied. He knew where his duty and commitments lay and, regardless of how much he wanted to see Melody, Jasper knew there was no way to tear himself apart from such a gut wrenching announcement.

"Then carry on about your business," Holmes said to them. "Perhaps you would care for a drink before leaving for Monroe," he offered to Hebert.

Hebert silently accepted. He walked over to the desk and collected his odd hat. He took one last glance around the office that had been his until just a few moments before. He put on the hat and started for the door. He stopped just shy of the door and turned around before addressing Jasper one final time.

"Evolution," he said staring directly at Whitlock.

He then forced a smile across his face and winked at the major before disappearing behind the door and out of the office.

Jasper Whitlock finally understood why Hebert had been acting so strangely and so detached. He had known about this reassignment and he had kept it a secret from everyone. Jasper wanted to say something, but there was nothing he could say. Not at that moment at least. Not in front of the new commanding officers, and certainly not in front of the head of the Trans-Mississippi Department.

An aide-de-camp and the general he serves develop an interesting bond that borders on friendship, in spite of the difference in rank. So it had been with these two men. Jasper hoped to see Hebert again to have some kind of closure to their time together. But he could not have known then, once Hebert left that office, that they would never meet again.

* * *

*This is now Louisiana State University.

** Original text taken from the title page. First publication was November, 1859.


	32. Unforeseen Allies

**A/N: Things are moving and the surprises will be getting bigger. Thanks for your continued reading and support. Much love to my wonderful beta, MaleficentKnits. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer; no copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

03 Sep 1862

Growing up on in rural eastern Texas, each day of the week ran seamlessly and uneventfully from one to the next. Jasper had spent more days than he cared to think of working. Not by himself, of course. The family of five labored together raising whatever they could. All of them worked the few acres of cotton they had available to them, but the men of the family split their time with the small garden plot they used for subsistence farming and whatever other heavy duties came up. His mother and sister dedicated themselves exclusively to the cotton field and running the house.

Jasper could remember those days going with his father to the market on the coast, trying to sell what crop they had picked. He remembered learning there why it was so hard to make money in cotton. Their lot was tiny in comparison to the Planters* who arrived with their cotton by the ton, that the Whitlocks would be pushed off to the end of the sale. As was expected, prices dropped as supply increased. That was mixed with their hand-ginned** cotton. It was a slow tedious process that always made his fingertips raw and sore. They stayed up nights, sitting around a couple of candles, pulling out the seeds, while his mom shared whatever stories she could think of. However, the Whitlock's crops couldn't really compare to the machine ginned cotton. It was evident in the quality of fiber, and the Planters always got paid a higher rate for their product.

Growing up, Sundays were the only "off days" his family had. That was because of church. All field work ended and the whole family gussied up as best they could and went off to church. Even as a child, Jasper could tell that his parents were not true believers. He was convinced that his mom went to Sunday worship services because it was her only chance to see other people, chat, and gossip about what was going on in the community. Whether or not he was right about their faith, the notion rubbed off on him and Jasper never came to be much of a devout Christian.

Even as he neared adulthood, lying about his age to join the army, Jasper's time was spent in such a manner that work was done as needed, rather than by a clock or a calendar. For all of these reasons, the days seemed to run together, and the occasional weekend off was a welcome reprieve from the norm.

In spite of his childhood and career, or perhaps because of them, Major Jasper Whitlock had never been so relieved to see a Monday morning. He had spent the entirety of the weekend debriefing everything he knew about the military layout and defenses in Galveston. This included his intimate knowledge of the officers, a reasonable discussion of the rank and file soldiers, and local politics.

Colonels Joseph Cook and Xavier Debray had been reassigned from Houston to assume command of the Galveston post. Likewise, General Hebert had been reassigned to another desk job, which meant Whitlock was relieved as his adjutant. Over the course of the weekend, he learned that he was to oversee a series of batteries on the island as well as Pelican Island. Were he honest with himself about his feelings, Jasper was somewhat hurt over his new duties, since it felt like a demotion. On the up side, he recognized that he would have more free time and not so many responsibilities pulling him away from his extracurricular pursuits.

The colonels were clearly no-nonsense men. Having spent the better part of the last two and a half days with them, Jasper could tell that they were short on humor and long on discipline. While this meant that the coming months were not likely to be as relaxed as they were under General Hebert, Jasper had no problem with this kind of change in principle. An increase in discipline may well alleviate some of the infighting they had experienced in recent weeks.

The only real complaint Jasper had about the new commanders was that Col. Debray, a native Frenchman, spoke with such a thick accents, he was difficult to understand. Hebert's creole accent was difficult to understand at first, but Jasper grew used to it over time. He assumed this would be the case with Debray as well.

In spite of their rigidness, the colonels were smart enough to recognize that they had taken all Whitlock's time over the last few days. As such, they gave him the morning off to rest or go about any personal errands he may have missed.

Jasper could only think of one errand to fulfill. He wanted to see Melody. Due to the sudden changing of the guard, Jasper had not been able to keep their date on Friday night, nor had he been able to scribble out a message to her.

The midmorning sun shone brightly overhead as he exited the Gulf Star Hotel. Although it was September, the summer had yet to give way. This day was particularly hot and humid. Jasper broke into a sweat before he had made it around the block as he headed for the stables. He enjoyed the walk a little more than he would have anticipated. The noise of horses pulling their carriages and buckboards or the commotion from the docks was a surprisingly welcome change from the quiet meetings he had been subjected to for the past two and a half days.

In no time at all, though, Jasper had saddled Tex and was on his way north of town. The bustle of the city soon gave way to the quiet and soothing sounds of seagulls calling and answering each other. Jasper chuckled slightly as he realized the cawing of the birds made almost as much sense to him as Debray's thick French accent. It was a comical juxtaposition against his Texas drawl.

Jasper saw the oak trees at the front of the Taylor's entry only a few minutes later. It was much like the first time that he had visited their home. It was quiet all around, with no noise or commotion going on in or around the house. Tex's footfalls were the loudest sound to be heard. Much like he had predicted on his first visit, there was no sneaking up. The front door opened as he approached and out rushed Sadie, one of the Taylor's house slaves.

"Mistah Major, sir," she said urgently. "It's not a good time to be comin' round, sir."

"I do apologize, Sadie," Jasper started. "I have been detained and have not been available until this very morning."

"I understand, sir, but now's a bad time to be callin' on Miss Melody. An' Miss Ruthie is sumthin' sore at you on her own account."

"Sore at me? I understand that I should have found a way to call upon Melody this weekend, but I could not!"

"Mistah Major, it ain't nothin' like you thinkin'," she tried to explain. "They's awful sore at _you_." She emphasized the last word and Jasper finally realized that this was something deeper than just failing to keep his appointment on Friday night.

"Sadie, can you deliver a message for me?" Jasper asked and waited for her to answer. She did with a nod. "Let them know that I was unavoidably detained all weekend due to circumstances that will be made clear very soon. Also, I cannot address any other offenses unless I know what it is that I have done."

Sadie stared at him, not condescendingly, but in a manner as if she had something she wanted to say but couldn't. Jasper's curiosity intense, he could feel it, as if it was a tangible object, however he knew the best card he could play was what he already had.

"Will you do that for me, Sadie?"

Again she nodded, while squeaking a nearly inaudible, "yessir."

With that affirmation, Jasper clicked his teeth and turned Tex around for their brief trip back down into Galveston. Whitlock was lost in thought, still unsure what could possibly have transpired over the weekend while he was locked away in debriefings.

"Waddya say, Tex?" Jasper asked in jest. "Were you off gallivanting all weekend? Perhaps you were off cavorting with other officers' horses?"

Tex suddenly snorted loudly as Jasper was talking.

"Was that an admission of guilt?" he asked playfully. "I never would have pegged you for a cavorter. A rollicker, maybe… a hell raiser, for sure, but a cavorter? Tsk, tsk."

This nonsensical, one-sided bantering continued until they reached the city limits. Once within earshot of other people, Jasper self-consciously stopped talking to his horse. While this was not uncommon for people to do, it was rare to find anyone doing it in public.

He listened to the sounds of the street and of the city. Those irregular background noises were something that he could just tine out and focus. Jasper actually found silence more distracting than these abstract sounds. He shifted his attention back to Melody. He couldn't figure out what had been then problem, but it was clear there was more than just his unexpected disappearance over the weekend. Whatever the problem was he wanted to know… and someone had to know.

All at once, it dawned on him: Someone does know!

Jasper pulled out his pocket watch, and checked the time.

10:47 a.m.

He still had more than two hours before he had to report back to work.

Ignoring any pretense, Jasper spoke up to Tex in a full voice, "There's a little time to kill. Whaddaya say we muck about a little longer?"

Not waiting for any kind of response, Jasper spurred Tex along and went through town with a purpose. Some of the nicest mansions of Galveston lay on the south end of the city, beyond the train station and the less favorable streets of the city. It was nestled away in this neighborhood that Jasper knew he would find his answers.

Jasper approached the wrought iron gate outside of a magnificent, white, three-story home. He dismounted and admitted himself through the gate, before tying off Tex's reigns on the inside. A house servant had heard the gate and made his way outside before Jasper could get to the porch.

"Been a while, Major," said the old, black man as he came down the front steps.

"That it has, Ben," Jasper replied. "I see the time has been hard on you."

"Of course not, sir," Ben started, "I ain't got no complaints about nothing."

"The gray has gone from your hair to your beard," Jasper chuckled before whispering, "and with this family I could understand why…"

Ben looked at him with utmost severity.

"Of course, I did not say that any more than you heard it," Jasper added with a wink. Ben smiled.

"You said nothin', sir, and I didn't hear nothing," Ben replied before dropping into a whisper just like Jasper had done, "but the fence posts are known for telling untruths around here."*** Ben finished with a wink of his own.

The two men laughed in unison.

"Good to see you, Ben," Jasper said genuinely as he gave the old man a slap on the back.

"What brings the Major to this humble house?" Ben asked, leading Jasper up the steps.

"I think you know who I need to see," Jasper grumbled.

"Yessir, I reckon' I do." Ben opened the door and led the guest inside. "I know where she is, and I shall announce you presently."

Jasper followed Ben down a short hall and into the doorway of the drawing room on the left.

"Major Jasper Whitlock," Ben announced professionally, "has come to visit with you Miss Austen."

Constance rose, quite startled, from the secretary cabinet where she sat writing a letter. She turned on the pair in the doorway. Once she saw Jasper, a wry smile creaked across her face, and Jasper suddenly felt like lamb being delivered as an Old Testament offering.

"That'll be all," she cooed at Ben, indicating he was to leave.

Her eyes never left Jasper's, but she waited to speak until the old servant had left.

"Well, well," Connie said holding out a hand, inviting Jasper to come sit on the divan opposite where she had moved to sit. "This _is _a surprise."

Obediently, the major strode across the room and to the seat. He never spoke, not quite sure how to address the subject he wanted.

"It was only a matter of time before you would come crawling back, Jasper. Don't bother denying it," she said with slight venom in her voice.

This accusation was the last thing he expected and, surprisingly, it seemed to embolden him.

"Crawling back?" Jasper said with amazement. "Why would I ever come back _for you_?"

"As if you really need to ask?" Constance scoffed. "You have lost the protection of your little banty rooster, and now you come to make amends for your offenses." She smiled.

"This was a bad idea," Jasper whispered to no one as he stood up. "I have neither time nor patience for such games. Obviously you have misheard everything I have yet to say."

"Oh sit down!" she ordered in the same forceful voice, but added a slight playfulness to it.

"You speak of offenses, but that 'banty rooster' comment has no place in my presence," Jasper began.

"…and his comments toward me were acceptable?" she demanded.

Jasper remembered how General Hebert had used a thinly veiled comment to call Constance a bitch, by comparing her to a female dag. With that thought he had to choke back wanted his affirmative.

"Let's just say that comment's accuracy changes with each new dawn," Jasper said sitting back down on the divan.

"It seems we have both gone on the offensive," she said with a pause as if looking for a way to complete the sentence. She never did.

They sat in silence for a couple of awkward moments. There was a lot of tension still between the two, but Jasper knew that enough of their old feelings for each other remained so that they could at least talk in a civilized manner.

"Connie," Jasper finally spoke up, "I have come to you to ask for a favor."

"Oh really?" she said almost playfully. "And what leads you to believe you have earned any favors from me?"

"Fine," Jasper said acquiescing, "I'm not looking for a favor so much as I am giving you the opportunity to do what you do best…"

She looked at him apprehensively.

"Nothing happens in this town without it going through your gossip circles," Jasper saw her smile when he admitted this. "I need to know what is going on right now."

"Well Jasper Whitlock," she exclaimed in mock surprise, "how could there be a changing of the guard right underneath your nose?"

"That is not what I mean, Connie, and we both know that."

The smile disappeared from Constance's face and she straightened herself up before answering.

"That is true enough," she said with clear disappointment in her voice. "Word of the general's departure spread quickly… and truth be known, there were many who expected you to succeed him."

Jasper had not expected this comment. It pleased him to know that but he certainly did not allow that to show.

"Yes," she continued, "I know that you were with the new commanders this weekend, and while I know this, I can honestly say that I haven't the faintest idea what it is you are insinuating."

"Fair enough," Jasper paused trying to phrase his words carefully. "Something has transpired between myself and Miss Taylor. She refused to see me today, yet I have no clue what has transpired outside of the second floor."

"If anything, I'm sure Melody finally got some class."

Jasper knew that Constance's jab was nothing more than that: a jab. Their relationship was strained, but there was some odd mutual respect between them. That fact, however, did not stop them from behaving like children and being mean spirited just for the sake of being mean.

"Well, I do not know for fact," Constance continued, "but there was some guessing as to why she was not at church yesterday."

Jasper waited for her to explain. Instead she just muttered something about how Melody was obviously not much of a Christian.

"You are going to make me ask every question, aren't you?" Jasper asked flatly.

"Where would the fun be in just giving you everything without making you work for it?" she purred back at him.

"My dear Constance, I believe you are maturing," Jasper blurted, "Giving everything away truly is a concept you struggled with in the past."

"You are a cur!" she shouted.

Jasper ignored her and pushed on. "What happened with Melody?"

"If you don't know, than you are the most obtuse man I have ever encountered!" She was still stinging from Jasper's last comment. "How is it that you never took advantage of my offers, yet you find the time and money to buy affection every night?"

"Excuse me?" Jasper nearly shouted with shock and outrage.

"Honestly, Jasper! Do you think no one knows? You hire the services of young women almost every night. Really… how anonymous do you really think you can be in one of the premier hotels in Galveston?"

Jasper wanted to yell at her… to call her names and shout at her... But he could not bring himself to do it. There was something in her voice that indicated pure honesty. Sure there was some amusement, and perhaps even some embellishment, but there was honesty behind her tone and her eyes. He knew that she meant what she was saying.

"Connie, you know that I have not, and would not take advantage of a woman in said manner," Jasper said more defensively than he intended to.

"So you expect me to forget that night a known harlot called upon you in the dining room?" she said with a mix of laughter and condescension. "Perhaps we can just make everyone forget that?"

"That was embarrassing, but it was also just a horrible misunderstanding! Even you know that!"

"Perhaps," she said with the same odd mix in her voice. "Or perhaps there is something to it. Do you wish to deny that women have been seen going up to your room each night since and not returning until just before dawn?"

"Wh-What?" Jasper stammered in a whisper. He felt as if he had had the wind knocked from his lungs. He could not breathe and was beside himself with shock.

Connie watched him and his reaction. Something changed in her. She believed him. She didn't know why, but she saw something there that gained her sympathy.

"You really believe that this did not happen, don't you?" she asked.

"You know it did not!" Jasper said with all the force he could muster, but he was clearly still taken back by Constance's comment. "And you know it as well! Forgive my lack of decorum, but damn it, woman! If I did not succumb to your advances and offerings, why would I pay loose women for it?

"What I know is what I hear," she said as if defending her gossiping, "and what I hear is that you enjoy the company of certain ladies. They go upstairs late every night, but do not return for many hours."

She could see Jasper going red in the face at this comment.

"Honestly Jasper," she consoled, "do not take it like that. Do you realize how few men can actually entertain a lady for that length of time?"

"Connie! You have lost all scruples and civility, woman!" Jasper was gaining his composure, but found it quite difficult with her discussion. "Such conversation is inappropriate in mixed company."

"You point your finger at me, but I am not the one who broached the subject."

"And I am not the one employing prostitutes!" Jasper shouted.

"Then explain to me why they have been coming to your room," Constance was calm and cool as she spoke, "or at least why that is what others seem to believe."

There was certain finality in that comment. Jasper knew Constance was more right than she realized. Her throw away comment was nothing in the long run, but it revealed a greater truth: for some reason, people throughout the city believed that he was hiring whores.

The moment of silence dragged on awkwardly as Jasper pondered the point she had unearthed. He was trying to determine how he would find the source of this rumor, but when he looked up he saw Constance staring at him with an expression of concern.

"Does Melody know about this?" he finally spoke up.

"I'm sure you know I never accused Melody Taylor of knowing much of anything, but I feel confident she knows about this. Which makes it such a shame she missed church yesterday," she goaded on, "Pastor Franklin preached about the 'whore of all the earth.' Miss Taylor and I could have taken turns guessing at who she is."

Jasper was as irritated as he was impressed. Constance always took her verbal jabs with such sweet relish, but a two for one dig at both him and Melody was impressive, even by Connie's standards.

"You really are a scorpion, Connie," Jasper said as he stood up.

"Are you calling me dangerous?" Constance asked with a smile.

"No," he said calmly. "It's just that you think you are powerful and you certainly can hurt a man, but any real man could easily crush you. In the long run, you can only hurt those smaller and weaker than you."

"So," she spoke up, "how badly did I hurt you?"

"I have had worse stings from a bee."

Jasper lied. It was his way of dealing with her. When they courted, he had been completely enamored with her. He saw her shortcomings and how she could be, but he was willing to overlook it because of how enchanted he was with her. Now, he could see her through clearer eyes and speak to her with a looser tongue.

Constance, however, scowled at him. His words hurt her, but secretly she had always enjoyed Jasper's ability to turn a phrase and call her out. So many men would try to flatter her, or were trying to get into her bed or her bank account. When they courted, Jasper was the only man she had known who would shower her with praise, but had no intention of taking advantage of her. Perhaps that is why she enjoyed his verbal parry so much. Jasper Whitlock was a creature like none other than she had met.

"I thank you, Connie" Jasper said as he collected his slouch hat and moved for the door.

"Always about your business," she said disapprovingly. "This time was free," she added, "but the next time you need a favor, it will cost you."

"Rumor has it, that is exactly what I am used to," Jasper said casually exiting the room and turning up the hallway.

That was exactly what Constance was hoping to say, and she was irritated that he took her final shot. She tossed a pillow at the door he had just exited.

"I'm not picking that up," Jasper shouted out as he walked down the hall and headed to the front door. A few minutes later, he had said farewell to Ben, mounted Tex, and was on his way back to the Gulf Star. If anyone would know about women supposedly going to his room, it would have to be one of the staff there.

Still looming overhead was the fact that there was something nefarious occurring, but Jasper was not sure what the end game was. Still, he was glad to have a lead, even if it did come from Connie. On a normal day, his disdain for her knew no bounds. At this moment, however, he wasn't sure if he loved to hate her, or hated to love her.

* * *

*Planter is the term given to those plantation owners who had 20 or more slaves. Although small in number compared to the overall southern population, the Planter class controlled the vast majority of the money, crops, and slaves.

**Ginning cotton is nothing more than removing the seeds from the cotton fibers. It is a tedious and time consuming task when done by hand. Early cotton gins could gin cotton up to ten times faster than men could do manually.

*** This is a reference to the old saying "Just between you, me, and the fencepost." This adage was gossiping and telling/keeping secrets.


	33. The Longest Night

**A/N: Another chapter only a few days apart... can you believe it? That must mean the semester is over. I thank each of you for your continued reading and support. I do hope you continue to enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed researching it. My undying love and admiration goes out to my amazing beta, MalificentKnits. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. No infringement is intended. **

* * *

05 Sep 1862

Major Jasper Whitlock stood up before the small craft hit the shore, and he stepped out into the knee-deep surf as the keel first hit the sand. At this moment patience was not one of Whitlock's virtues. The glorified rowboat of a ferry had taken longer to cross the channel than Jasper had hoped or intended. Slow though it may have been, water travel was still the fastest way from the wharfs on Galveston Island to the northernmost point of Pelican Island(1) where the battery stood.

Jasper's charge had been to oversee this battery and defend the harbor, but less than one week into his new command problems were springing up from every point. He seemed to be putting out fires left and right. To make matters worse, Colonel Debray had left, only to return to his post in Houston, leaving Colonel Cook to oversee the Galveston operations by himself. Cook was very different from Hebert, and while Jasper liked the general personally, he had started to understand the level to which Hebert had alienated many of the locals. In so doing, he inadvertently caused more friction than was necessary to operate and prepare the area and preparing it for battle. Now, Cook was by himself and had managed to bring in a lot more local support, but in Jasper's opinion the colonel was either not prepared or not supported by his superiors.

Politics and preparations, however, had nothing to do with Jasper's current concern. Running from the shore across a few hundred yards to the battery, he was nearly out of breath when he arrived. There, in the center of the battery was a young corporal sitting on the ground with his hands and feet bound. His knees were pulled up between his arms and a wooden pole was inserted under his knees but over his arms. A stick had been shoved sideways in his mouth and twine had been tied around the back of his head, so as to prevent the young man from spitting out the gag.(2)

Jasper did not know all that had gone on, but from the laughter he heard on his approach it was clear that the corporal had been abused verbally. The dirt and garbage on top of him showed that the others in the battery had been throwing things at him, but there no evidence of physical abuse outside of that. However, the clean streaks on either side of the boy's face showed where his tears had removed the dirt and dust on his cheeks.

He had not said a word, and he didn't need to. Each of the soldier's present felt the mood change as the major approached, and it was not because of his rank. In spite of the hot September sun, a cold silence fell over the assembled crowd. That silence allowed only two sounds to be heard: the major's hard breathing after his run and the whimpering of a scared young man.

At the realization of their actions and standing in shame, a few of men in the half circle attempted to walk away.

"Don't move," the major barked.

The men stepped back into their previous places in the unofficial formation.

Jasper stood there, keeping the all of the soldiers present with him until his breathing had returned to normal. He wanted to make sure that the only thing they heard was this soldier choking back his tears and emotions.

"I am not a vengeful man," Jasper spoke up after the long silence, "but if anything like this happens again, for any reason, the perpetrator will not receive the same clemency I offer now."

He looked around at the men. Their faces revealed both shame and a clear understanding of the severity with which Jasper spoke.

"Now, one of you go fetch me Jacobs," Jasper ordered. As if planned, one man on the left of the group snapped to attention, saluted, and ran off to fulfill the command. "The rest of you will make restitution for this."

Knowing that no further orders were necessary, Jasper turned to follow the soldier who had scampered off to find Captain Jacobs, while the others collapsed the circle onto the corporal to free him from the buck and gag. Moments later, he saw Captain Jacobs emerging from a tent on the far side of the battery. The oversized tent was large enough to hold a table, a few chairs, cot, and tall enough for a man to stand upright inside. It was similar to the kind that officers had used for command posts in the field. Jacobs saluted when he made eye contact, but Jasper neither spoke nor even returned the salute until he met the captain.

"Inside, now," Jasper ordered. Captain Jacobs followed the command and led the major into the tent he had just left a few moments ago. Once inside he began the interrogation. "Did you approve of this?"

"Approve of what, Major?" Jacobs spoke with genuine confusion.

"This is only the second buck and gag I've ever seen, and neither of them was appropriate."

"Major Whitlock," the captain began, but obviously on the defensive, "I didn't authorize that activity."

"Pray tell, then, how did something like that occur without your blessing?"

"Major, I've never participated in any such shenanigan or going on, but I know they happen amongst the rank and file," Jacobs explained impassively. "I've often heard that allowing the men to use their own method of discipline is one of the most effective methods for keeping peace within the ranks."

"There may be some merit to that belief, but not in the manner in which you allowed it to occur. This was nothing but abuse, and it will divide your ranks as quickly as it will make you a tyrant."

"With all due deference, Major Whitlock, given the option of being loved or feared, the Italian philosopher Niccolo Machiavelli stated it was preferable to be feared."

"I expect you know that have never had any your fancy book learning," Jasper said calmly, although he had to fight off the feeling that Jacobs was talking down to him, "but I trust you recognize I read a man as good as you can read a book."

Jasper saw the captain's lips purse slightly at this comment. Had not intended to insult Jacobs, but it came across so naturally that the comment had to be said.

"It matters not that you did not grant permission to them," Whitlock continued, "the fact that you allowed it to occur will resonate in ways that you will regret."

Jacobs swallowed hard. "It will not happen again, sir."

"I trust it will not," Jasper concurred. "What was his crime?"

"Drunkenness at his post, sir."

"That is a punishable offense, and I am sure he will not make such a grave mistake again. Now, I expect you to take that corporal back to Galveston, see that he gets a hearty meal, then get him transferred over to the battery at Fort Pointe."

"But, Major," Jacobs began, "Fort Pointe is just across the channel… we can see it from here."

"Go see McAdams; he will be able to make sure Colonel Cook signs the appropriate paperwork."

"Why make the fuss and paperwork over this incident?"

"Too many of these conscripts are poor in money, but they are rich in pride," Jasper said softly. "That corporal has paid enough. He should be somewhere where his pride has no debt."

"Understood, sir," Jacobs said with a nod. "When would you have me take my leave with him?"

"As soon as you are able. Send the message for him to collect his effects, then we should sit down and have a drink."

Jacobs did as he was ordered, and returned to the tent about a minute after he left. When he returned, Major Whitlock was undoing the last few buttons on his uniform coat, which he then removed and threw onto the table beside his slouch hat.

"Now, Jacobs," Jasper began, "if you would be so kind as to remove your blouse. We need to have a conversation as regular folk, with no rank involved."

* * *

Shortly past 10:00 that night, the major entered the Gulf Star Hotel much later than normal. Almost all of the evening's dinner guests had already left and the parlor was nearly empty as well. The major's shoulders drooped and his slouch was hanging low over his face. With one glance, the young desk clerk could tell he was exhausted and not to be bothered, and passed on informing the major about the message in his box. Without a glance, much less a word, the major made his way to the stairs and slowly climbed them up toward the second floor.

Only a few minutes after the major turned left at the top of the stairs, a woman stood up from a divan in the parlor where she had been sitting for the past hour. The young brunette had naturally curly hair and was wearing a light green dress, which was nicely trimmed, but lacked the more traditional fluff of petticoats. This gave her a more homely look, but few men would notice as the dress itself showcased an exceptional amount of cleavage. So much so that the desk clerk had enjoyed stealing glances at her when he could, soaking in as much of her as he could while still doing his job.

He watched as she walked slowly through the main lobby, as if she were intentionally taking her time. The clerk had seen her almost every night he had worked. This was her normal routine. Shortly after Major Whitlock returned for the evening, she would follow him upstairs and not return until breakfast. A big part of him envied the major on multiple levels: the money, the woman, the stamina.

Another part of him, however, was glad that he would never have to deal with the scandal that he just knew would eventually come out from this. Surely there were others who had caught onto the major's nightly activities.

He watched her sultry walk up the stairs, but turned his head quickly as she reached the top, as if he was afraid she would catch him ogling her. She slipped out of sight down the hallway as she had so many times before.

Inside the major's room was quiet as a graveyard. He listened as intently as he could, but heard nothing outside in the hallway. There was no conversation, no footsteps, no noise whatsoever. He checked his watch.

It had been 5 minutes since he had shut the door, and the lack of signs made questions fly through his head. What was long enough? When did she sneak upstairs?

6 minutes.

Surely there had to be some kind of clue. He would know it when he heard it.

7 minutes.

Then there was the slight sound of metal on metal. The major's door flung open and there, directly across his room at the very end of the hall stood a shocked woman in a light green dress.

She gasped slightly at the suddenness of the door being flung open, and let out a yelp when she saw who stood before her.

"You're not…" she began before he cut her off.

"There's no need to talk," he said pressing his index finger to his lips. "Why don't you come have a chat with me tonight?"

"I think not," she said quietly, "what kind of girl do you think I am?"

"I believe we both know the answer to that question."

"I could have half the men in this hotel defend my honor with nothing more than a scream," she said threateningly.

"But you won't," he said pulling his pistol seemingly from nowhere and training it on her. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to accept my invitation."

Without a word, she stepped across the hall, leaving her key dangling inside the lock, and into the major's room. He pointed the gun toward a chair in the middle of the room, inviting her to sit there. He shut the door, locked it, and sat down on the bed, placing his gun on the pillow beside him.

"Now," he said, "where do we begin?"

"How about you tell me who you are and what you plan on doing with me?"

"Those are easy questions. I am Captain Haversham Jacobs at your service," he said with a smile and slight bow of his head, "and I am going to get some answers from you."

"Where is Major Whitlock? I was looking for him."

"No. No you were not looking for him," Jacobs said confidently. "You are trying to scandalize and discredit him. Scuttlebutt is that you have been doing a fine job of this, and I want to know why."

"Any business between myself and the major is private and none of your concern," she spoke fervently, but it was a clear front. "I saw the major come upstairs, where is he? He will vouch for me."

"Nice bluff," Jacobs said with a smile, "but you should never do it when your opponent has dealt the cards."

She looked at him as if not understanding the reference.

"You saw a major's hat and uniform. You did not, however, see a major… you saw me."

She was speechless at this concept. Not only had Whitlock figured out what she was doing, but he had set up a trap for her.

"None of this was supposed to happen," she said finally regaining her composure.

"I am confident it was not."

Jacobs paused, giving her a chance to continue. She did not.

"So how about we start with the most important part… who hired you?"

"A guy named Stephens," she blurted out. "Matthew Stephens."

The captain screwed up his nose as he thought about that name. He had heard it before, but he could not remember in what context.

"Tell me more."

"What else can I tell you?"

"Perhaps it will help you remember some of the finer details if I were to tell you that I am here only because I am more forgiving than Major Whitlock, but he could be here in a moment's notice."

She took a moment to consider his threat. It was easy money, getting paid to sleep in a fancy hotel each night without having to _earn _the cash. In spite of that, she did not think these threats were worth the money.

"He stays at a shanty of a hotel south of the train station. You can find him upstairs in room 5."

"See?" he asked as he stood up from the bed. "Was that really so difficult?"

Jacobs walked over to the window, opened it, and then he let out a loud whistle. Out of the shadows stepped Jasper Whitlock, wearing a gray captain's uniform blouse.

"Matthew Stephens," Jacobs said quietly, "Number 5 in the Mockingbird Hotel."

"And the other?" Whitlock asked.

Jacobs nodded before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the room key, which he then tossed down to Jasper. Without any other words, the captain shut the window and returned to the bed.

"Might as well get comfortable," he said. "We're locked in until morning."

"What?" she exclaimed in a combination of shock and anger.

"Worry not, young lass, I mean you neither harm nor dishonor. Locking us in here is just a security measure to ensure you don't get to Mr. Stephens before Major Whitlock does."

"What will happen to Mr. Stephens?"

"I honestly do not know. I made a point not to ask." Then, lying down on the bed, settling in, he casually said, "So… what shall we talk about until the morning?"

There was not much to be said. There they sat in silence. There were no sounds to distract them, and certainly no conversation either of them were willing to have. The only things that Jacobs wanted to discuss centered on the woman's mysterious behavior. Her deafening silence made her lack of interest in that topic palpable.

More than an hour passed before the prostitute finally dozed off to sleep. Jacobs was not too terribly bothered by the time and the silence. He had been on the second night shift for the past week observing the soldiers in his battery. If anything, the captain found the lack of waves helpful to his alertness. He heard every little sound, and could focus on it. However, the soft, rhythmic drone of the waves lured him into sleep on more than one occasion.

Shortly after midnight, he heard a sound that made his heart race. It was the doorknob. Someone was attempting to enter the room. Jacobs grabbed his iron(3) and leapt to his feet. But as he got to the door, he realized it was not _his _door. It was the one across the hall.

_The KEY! _he screamed in his head. Jacobs had noticed she left it when he called her into this room. He couldn't help but imagine the worst. _What if Stephens got the drop on the major? Could Whitlock be outsmarted so easily? Or was there any outsmarting to be done?_

His thoughts and concerns disappeared when he heard the soft sound of metal on metal a key slid into the lock of his room door. He moved behind the door and cocked the hammer as the doorknob twisted. The door opened slowly… almost half way.

"It's me, Jacobs," Jasper announced.

The captain breathed a sigh of relief, and holstered his gun as Jasper stepped into the room.

"No need to be so tense," Jasper said while shutting the door.

"I did not expect you before dawn, sir."

"You know we're off the clock, and this is anything but a sanctioned mission. There is no need for such formalities here."

"Old habits and whatnot…," Jacobs tapered off, never finishing his sentence.

"How was your company?" Jasper asked, indicating the woman. "Did you discover anything from her?"

"Unfortunately, she was not one for conversation."

"Perhaps if you paid her for her time," Jasper said with surprising seriousness.

"I doubt even that would pique her interest. I'm sure at this point, the only thing that would interest her right now would be a bed," Jacobs joked.

"Yet another thing with which I'm certain she is accustomed."

Jacobs let out an audible laugh with that comment. Jasper, however, walked over and kicked the chair hard enough for the woman wake to with a start.

"Wakey, wakey," Jasper said. The woman shook her head as she both woke up fully and came to realize she was not in fact falling from the chair.

"Are you alert?" he asked. She answered by nodding. "Wonderful. How much has _Mr. Stephens _paid you for each night?" Jasper put a surprising emphasis on that name.

"Five bucks per night," she said, then she added defensively, "and that's a bargain because I'm good at what I do!"

"I am sure you are," Jasper spoke as if he did believe her. "Now, I know that you are a business woman. I would like to negotiate for your services."

He pulled out a small wad of money from his pocket and sat down on the bed so he could see her face to face.

"Just because I sell myself does not mean I do anything unnatural. The two of you will have to have individual appointments."

Jasper laughed as he counted out ten dollars.

"This is for your time and inconvenience this evening," he said, holding out the money. She took it suspiciously. Jasper then counted off ten more dollars' worth of bills, and held them out to her. "This is for your silence on anything ever happening here tonight. You forget all about the last couple of hours."

She stared at him for a moment, even more suspiciously then she did before. After a long pause, she reached up slowly and took the money.

"Wonderful, we are agreed on two points," he said as he counted out ten more dollars. "This is for you to deliver a message to Miss Melody Taylor, admitting that we were not engaging in sexual congress of any kind."

She was even more hesitant than before. Jasper sat there with his arm out, but realized that she was not likely to take it. He retracted his arm and doubled the amount to twenty.

"I'm not asking you to do anything, but speak to one person. No one else."

She still seemed suspicious, but the money for something so simple was too good. She reached up and took the money.

"Thank you," Jasper said with true sincerity. "So far you have earned forty dollars, and all I am asking you to do is keep tonight as our little secret, except for speaking directly to Miss Taylor. Are we of one accord?"

Not wanting to speak any more than she had to, the woman simply nodded at him.

"Now, for one final offer," Jasper counted out ten more dollars. "Let me give you one sentence of advice."

"You're going to pay me to listen to a sermon? You wantin' me to mend my wicked ways?" she asked incredulously.

"I was never one who was too much for churchin'," Jasper said candidly, "so I can promise this will not be a sermon. Just one sentence."

"You're gonna pay me to listen to one sentence?"

"Yes," Jasper paused, counting quickly on his fingers. "Ten words to be exact. One dollar per word. It's the best deal you'll ever find."

She looked at him, but her suspiciousness gave way to near laughter as she smiled and reached out. But when she tried to take the money from Jasper's hand, he did not release it. He pulled the money and her hand closer to him, which caused her to lean in more closely than she felt comfortable, but she looked into his eyes as he spoke. Jasper spoke in a deliberate staccato, emphasizing each word as he said it.

"Matthew Stephens is not the man you think he is."

She looked at him, and once again her emotions gave way to laughter.

"Honestly?" She blurted through exaggerated laughs. "That is your great wisdom? All that build up, just to tell me that?"

This time Jasper nodded.

"It's your money to spend," she said, calming down slightly.

The prostitute counted out her money as if to confirm that she had really just earned fifty dollars. She reached down the top of her dress, tucking the money between the fabric and her left breast.

"Is that all?" she asked.

Again Jasper nodded before holding up the key to her room across the hall from theirs. She accepted the key, stood up, and walked to the door. She paused before opening it.

"They say you've seen the elephant," she whispered.(4) "Is that true?"

Jasper nodded, but Captain Jacobs spoke up for the first time since she woke up.

"Not only has he seen the elephant, he's ridden the elephant. He's been in the heart of combat."

One look from Jasper shut him up. Jasper did not mind recounting events and telling stories, but he had no desire to revel in them.

"What's it like?" she asked.

"Much less scary than politics," he said flatly.

She looked at him irritably. "Can I get an honest answer?"

"That was honest. I have dealt with both, and at least in combat I know who my enemies are, as well as my allies. That is a luxury one does not have this far away from the battle's front. I feel confident that is something with which you can relate."

"Yes," she said opening the door. "Yes I can."

The prostitute left the room and closed the door behind her. Jasper began unbuttoning the captain's uniform shirt to return it to Jacobs when the younger officer spoke up.

"It's not my place to say it, Major, but that was a lot of money!"

"You are correct on both counts," Jasper replied, turning to look at him. "Fifty dollars is no small sum, and it is not your place to say so."

"Honestly, sir, that is more than a week's pay for most enlisted men…," he trailed off, but Jasper took control of the rest of the sentence.

"…and her silence and assistance is worth every dollar to me."

"Then if I may be so bold as to change the subject, that was a rather poetic description of combat."

"Yes, well, it was far more polite than what I wanted to say." Jasper had not intended to finish the thought until he saw the mixture of curiosity and confusion on the captain's face. "I imagine battle is a lot like whoring. It's pretty damn exciting, there's a lot of noise, and somewhere in the middle of it you lose track of what's going on. One side is obviously done before the other one, but the fight continues until both sides realize that. In the end, the most important thing is that you live to fight another day."

Jacobs' mouth was agape with shock at such imprudent and intemperate words from Whitlock. However, the more lighthearted demeanor was a welcome change from the more tense discussion a moment prior.

"I have never heard you speak in such a frivolous or callous manner, sir."

"I do apologize," Jasper sighed, "but after the night I have had, my patience and scruples are thin."

"Pray tell, sir. What happened at the Mockingbird?"

Mostly undressed, Jasper returned to where he had sat upon the bed, but sat back far enough to rest against the wall. Jacobs turned the chair around and sat straddling it, resting his arms on the top of the chair's back. Having settled in, Jasper began his story.

"Once I left here, I worked my way over to the hotel using alleys and avoiding the gas lamps on the street. With my position, lesser though it may be, I could not be seen getting involved in any such dark deeds. Once I got there, I hid in the shadows, soaking in every detail and each face before entering. There was no way I could go in without full situation awareness.

"On a side note, Captain, there are a few enlisted men with whom we shall have to revisit what constitutes appropriate behavior.

"Standing across the street, as I searched through the window, I saw a face that was most surprising…" Jasper trailed off. His pause was longer than Jacobs anticipated and he was obviously waiting for more details, but did not want to be the one to speak.

"Hiding in the far corner of the saloon was a man by the name of Albert Baldwyn. He is a most unsavory character who bears a grudge against me that is as unyielding as it is baseless."

For the next ten minutes, Jasper recounted all of the details as he knew them about Albert Baldwyn. He began with how he stopped Baldwyn from further abusing a conscript who ran away after the battle of Shiloh, and continued through his last encounter here on Galveston Island.

"I thought he was gone, but it appears not. There he sat in the corner, almost hidden. He may have kept one eye on his beer, or a woman, or some other vice, but he definitely kept the other on the door as if he was looking for someone. I knew I could not go asking about Stephens until after Baldwyn left.

"But that took longer than expected. He was one of the last ones to leave. I watched as the whores peddled their wares and the dregs of this city got wallpapered.(5) Baldwyn waited until the bartender finally began closing up shop… and that was at half past eleven.

"As soon as Baldwyn went upstairs, I went in to catch the bartender before the doors were closed. I inquired about Matthew Stephens and the barkeep said, 'just missed 'im. He just wen' up t'bed'."

"So…," Jacobs started, putting the pieces together.

"Stephens is Baldwyn," Jasper completed.

"What are we going to do about him, then?"

"There is no 'we' in this case. I thank you for your assistance tonight, but this is neither your fight nor your concern, Jacobs."

"True though that may be, sir, it is a rather healthy distraction from the daily doldrums that are watching over a battery on a rather secluded island."

The corner of Jasper's mouth creaked into a small smile. He realized that if the situations were reversed, he too would likely enjoy such a diversion as well.

"Know this before we do anything," Jasper spoke with a new found sense of excitement in his voice, "Baldwyn is sly and patient. That is a terrible combination under any circumstances. What makes this worse is that we do not know how far into his machinations I have stepped before discovering that I am indeed in a trap."

"We still have the woman across the hall," Jacobs offered.

"She is but one piece of the puzzle and likely has no clue what other pieces make up the whole. Stopping her is a tactical victory, not a strategic one."

"And now I see why her silence is so valuable to her," Jacobs said beginning to see the bigger picture. "So what is our next step?"

"That depends, Jacobs. How willing are you to be bait?"

* * *

(1) This is where modern-day Seawolf Park is located.

(2) This was an unofficial form of corporal punishment (no pun intended) used for those who were derelict in their duty and/or drunkards. It was commonly known as a "buck and gag."

(3) Slang term for a pistol.

(4) Elephant = Battle. To "see the elephant" was meant to say that you have seen something strange and exotic, in this case, it meant seeing combat.

(5) Slang for drunk.


	34. Orders

**A/N: Here is another chapter. Yeah! I am sorry for the delay. More is coming very soon. Much love to my wonderful beta, MaleficentKnits. I also have to thank WuogKat for her additional comments and suggestions. Jasper Whitlock is property of S. Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. All else belongs to history and my overactive imagination.  
**

* * *

10 Sep 1862

Major Jasper Whitlock sat at the table inside his command tent on Pelican Island. The flaps at each end of tent were tied back, allowing for the breeze to come through. He was reading another book on military strategy and sitting as comfortably as he could in the hard, wooden chair. He was enjoying the unseasonably cool temperature; it was somewhere in the seventies, and the dark clouds showed that rain was imminent. In spite of the impending storm, this weather was a welcome reprieve from the oppressively hot temperatures they had been having for the past month.

Having been reassigned from the duties of general's adjutant to battery commander, Jasper could not help but feel as if he had been relegated to some insignificant, outer post. The more he studied, the more Jasper fancied himself to be a budding field officer. He felt that his unaccredited and unrecognized performance at Shiloh had prevented their defeat from becoming an all-out slaughter. Had he not taken charge, the Union would have turned the Confederate flank and it would have been nothing shy of an old fashioned trip to the woodshed.

Sitting there, Jasper focused on the text of a chapter titled, "Flanking and Counter Flanking" while ignoring the incessant droning of the enlisted men bustling about the battery, engaging in various forms of recreation. Even as the senior officer in charge of the battery, Jasper didn't really care about the games and non-military activities in which they were engaged. He learned far too quickly that daily life stationed inside the earthworks was little more than an exercise in patience. Aside from occasional drills, where he timed their reaction from leisure to full battle station, Jasper realized there was little else to be done other than "hurry up and wait" as the old military adage recommended.

Usually some of the cannon crew would set up their ponchos from the side of the earthwork wall in order create a makeshift tarpaulin for shade. Others might be whiling away their time with card games such as poker or whist. In spite of their leisure, Jasper was sufficiently satisfied with their battle readiness. Ever since he came down on them regarding their sophomoric behavior, this group of men had matured and learned their role was to protect the harbor, rather than to sit back and play.

Suddenly, a low, but powerful roll of thunder filled the air. Jasper actually felt it before he heard it. It was this peal that brought him out of the world of the theoretical and into the present that he heard an unnatural commotion outside. Many men were grumbling, and a few were shouting.

The major tossed the book onto the table as he jumped to his feet and headed for the exit of the tent. Off on the far side of the battery, he saw a small army of men he did not recognize rounding up cannonballs while others were attaching caissons to the cannon frames.

"What in God's name do you think you are doing?" Jasper roared from a couple hundred feet away.

The power in his voice and the anger beneath it stopped every man who heard him bellow. They looked up to the major closing the distance as fast as he could.

"I want to know who's in charge of you and why you are in my camp!" Jasper roared again with such ferocity that the man in charge actually feared responding.

"Well?" he demanded again looking around. As he scanned the strangers, he could tell that they were not from Galveston and each one wore a uniform too new to have been stationed anywhere very long.

He finally saw a scrawny man, a little older than he was, wearing sergeant stripes. Looking up, he made eye contact, which made the sergeant flinch a little bit. Jasper immediately realized this was the leader of the party. Although standing about ten steps away, Jasper moved on him in six.

"You best start explaining what you are doing before I rain nine kinds of unpleasantness down upon you," Jasper demanded.

Without saying a word, the sergeant reached into his coat pocket and fished out a piece of paper, which he handed to the major. Jasper took it, unfolded it, and looked down to see the familiar handwriting of General Hebert. It read, in part:

_All spare artillery from the outposts of Galveston and Corpus Christie are to be reallocated to defensive positions for the Texas 2__nd__ Artillery under the command of Col. X. Debray, Houston Texas. _

_This includes mortars, howitzers, napoleons, and any other available field guns necessary to establishing sufficient defense of the Port of Houston.* _

_-Maj. Gen. P. O. Hebert_

Jasper had seen the handwriting too often to question its authenticity. He knew this order was not only from the general, but it was in truth written by him. What he did not understand was why.

His anger bubbled out to the point that those around him knew he was about to explode. Unfortunately, there was not much for him to yell about. He recognized these men were following orders, and there was no way for them to know which guns were "spare" and which ones were not. He understood that such decisions came from someone far above a sergeant's pay grade. The only logical place to start was with Colonel Debray, who was being given all of the "spare" artillery.

Jasper folded up the note but dressed down the sergeant for failing to follow proper procedure. Before fulfilling such an order, the sergeant should have reported to the senior officer and shown these orders before attempting to remove the hardware they had appeared to be stealing.

The major understood that such a tongue lashing was best done in private, which is something that he normally would have done. However, this was a rare instance in which Jasper simply did not care to maintain decorum, nor that he fell out of his normal character. After a few minutes of yelling, and the sergeant slipping in the occasional "yes, sir" or "sorry, sir" as appropriate, Jasper finally calmed down.

He looked around only to see that the entire camp had come to a halt and listened to the episode. Only then did he realize what he had done, and a wave of guilt fell over him. He had just allowed his emotions to control him… something he did not like to do.

"Sergeant," he spoke up in calming voice, but loud enough for all watching to hear, "I am sorry for the way I spoke to you. You were following orders, and I apologize for that. I do not, however, apologize for calling you out. You failed to follow procedure and I am sure that is a mistake you will not make again."

The sergeant nodded.

"Now you and your men go about your business," Jasper ordered.

He paused and looked over the battery. It was about to become as barren as the island upon which he stood. His one objective was to maintain an effective, battle-ready 12-gun battery. Now they were about to lose the one thing they were supposed to have.

Jasper reread the orders in his head. There was no mention, that he could recall, of shutting down any existing batteries. Nor was there any reassignment discussed. Jasper feared this meant he was to sit there with nothing in to do, but stare at the bay.

He looked over it for a few more moments, ignoring the strangers who were requisitioning their precious field guns. Then he turned suddenly to look for one of his NCOs. "Sergeant Walters!" he yelled. A moment later a tall, but reasonably well-built middle-aged man stood at attention in front of the major.

"I am finxin' to head over to Galveston to find out why the hell they want our guns. Before I return, I fully expect you to find me no fewer than eight logs or trees or whatever the hell you can find… I don't really care. But they must be long, straight, and between 18 - 30 inches wide, and no less than 5 feet in length."

"Yes sir!" his sergeant yelled back. He had no idea where he would get them on the barren waste that was Pelican Island, but after the major's tirade, Walters was not about to question any order from the major.

"Hmm…," Jasper paused. "I said eight, but ten would be better." Then, as if reading the sergeant's mind, he added, "I said what I meant. I do not care how or where you get them logs as long as you get them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" He shouted once again.

"And don't get in their way," Jasper said, pointing to the men pilfering their cannons. "Let them go about their business and you go about yours."

Sergeant Walters nodded his affirmation, and Jasper turned back toward his tent. He thought for a minute about what he may or may not need from it, and shook off the notion that there was anything important. Instead he went straight to the small craft he used to shuttle between Pelican and Galveston Islands.

Three quarters of an hour later, Major Whitlock was entering the office on the second floor of the Gulf Star Hotel. Sergeant McAdams was sitting at his desk busily scribbling away on some papers in front of him.

"I need to see Colonel Debray," Jasper said, foregoing any pleasantries or small talk with McAdams.

"You cannot see him, Major Whitlock," the sergeant replied tersely.

"That was not a request, sergeant," Jasper shot back. "I need to see him. Immediately, if not sooner."

McAdams stopped what he was doing and looked up, giving the major his full attention. "Colonel Debray is not here, sir. He is stationed full time in Houston, but comes here a couple of times a week to coordinate with _Colonel Cook_."

The emphasis on the last name, meant something, but Jasper was not sure what. He was also too concerned about the reassignment of his artillery to figure it out now.

"Then I will see Colonel Cook," Jasper said firmly.

"I will see if he is available," McAdams said standing up. He then muttered something that sounded like, _hope this is inconvenient_, but Jasper couldn't tell for sure.

It took a few moments before McAdams returned and said it would be a few minutes. Jasper fidgeted around the office, looking at whatever papers were in view, peering at a map of the Gulf Coast, and whatever other mischief he could get into without being called down by the sergeant. While McAdams was lower in rank, in this office, he was privy to rather sensitive information and the sergeant's charge to protect it outweighed the major's seniority.

It took about a quarter of an hour before Colonel Cook opened the door. He did not say a word, but just held the door open and held out an arm, inviting the major to enter. Jasper stepped forward, and into the office. The door shut behind him before the colonel finally spoke up.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit, Major Whitlock?" Colonel Cook's voice clearly advertised his exhaustion and frustration.

"I am sure you are not so obtuse that you are unaware that the battery on Pelican Island is being pilfered as we speak," Jasper said with as much frustration as he had lingering anger.

"Aye," Cook breathed more than he spoke. "That was unavoidable. Artillery is needed, but we only had a limited amount to begin with."

"So why must it be my battery that is raided like a forgotten pantry?"

"It is a matter of necessity, Major Whitlock."

"If I may be so bold," Jasper said with near reckless abandon for protocol, "why did Debray choose Pelican? Is there some personal issue I am not aware of at play here?"

"Personal issue?" Cook said with genuine surprise. "What on earth makes you think that?"

"Of all the batteries on the coast, mine was first. I know there are lingering issues between senior officers and General Hebert, and I cannot help but feel I am being used as a pawn in some act of vengeance whether from brass or politicians."

Cook laughed.

"Don't be cocky, son. I daresay your friendship with the General is affecting your vision."

Jasper looked at him with confusion.

"Shall I put it another way?" Cook asked, and Jasper nodded slightly. "Hebert's penchant for politics rubbed off on you, and that is what you are seeing."

"How so?"

"I have heard you were a tactical and strategic prodigy," Cook paused to give his words a moment to sink in. "Think for a moment of the coast and what resources we have here."

Jasper thought for a moment before speaking up, "You're leaving some guns on the north point and Bolivar, at the expense of everywhere else."

"Did you read Hebert's orders?"

Jasper nodded.

"So you saw that the general's orders call for greater protection of Houston at the expense of the coast."

Jasper thought for a moment. He knew where Cook was going with this line of discussion. This reassignment was a foolhardy move and it served no long-term purpose. That shortsightedness was a weakness and that also explains why Hebert always put so much value on his advice. Sadly, he knew that not only was this line of thought was accurate. He reluctantly nodded again.

"Hebert always was better at speechifying than military prowess. Off the record, you know as well as I do that this is pretty damn foolish mistake. On the record we will follow all orders to the best of our ability," Cook was far more resolute in the second sentence than the first. He paused for a few moments before concluding, "Is that all you needed? Confirmation of the order?"

"To be candid, sir, that was not my intention. However, it was perhaps my purpose."

"I do not appreciate the interruption, nor do I appreciate you questioning orders," Cook paused for a moment and sighed heavily, "but I do understand the sentiment."

"So what are we to do? Abandon our position? Are we to be reassigned?"

"Negative on all counts, Major. You will maintain your post at the battery."

"That is to say," Jasper spoke slowly and haltingly, "the battery with neither munitions nor weaponry will somehow remain as a battery?"

"That is the very intention, yes. But I don't want y'all to get lazy just because it will be non-functional."

"I can assure you, that will not be a problem," Jasper said with a smile.

"What makes you so sure of that?" Cook asked with genuine curiosity.

"Give me 36 hours then come and see for yourself." Jasper then nodded and turned to make his departure.

* * *

It took more than three hours before Major Whitlock returned to Pelican Island. He had been delayed by the storm that finally moved through. Fortunately for Jasper, it allowed him to pick up some items he planned to get before leaving Galveston. Even though it was still overcast, there was enough ambient light sufficient for the men at the battery to empty the small ferry he had used to cross the channel.

Unbeknownst to the major, Captain Jacobs arrived early for his shift on the island because he feared the weather would keep him from arriving for his duty call.

"I have always appreciated your professionalism," Jasper said as they shook hands in the command tent.

"Thank you," he replied coolly. "If I may inquire, sir, what is going on here?"

Jasper took a few minutes and debriefed Jacobs regarding the order, requisition, and the meeting he had with Colonel Cook.

"So, are we to just sit here twiddling our thumbs?"

"I would sooner expect Christ Almighty to turn up as I would expect us to do nothing!" Whitlock said with surprising severity.

"So we are just going to find ways to keep busy?"

"I believe you are smart enough not to confuse activity with productivity. I certainly will not juxtapose those two."

"If I may be so bold, Major Whitlock, how then do you justify sending men over to Galveston to cut down trees in that storm?"

Jasper raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Half of the men took the skiffs over to the big island in the middle of that downpour and came back with trimmed trees." Jacobs paused to see if Jasper gave any reaction. He didn't. "Truth be told, some of them were cursing you for giving an order so out of line."

Jasper did react to this. The corner of his mouth crooked into a smile.

He knew that the men did not know his reasoning, but upon hearing this complaint from Jacobs, made it clear to him that those enlisted men would follow his orders… no matter how crazy they might seem. No officer could ask for much more than the trust of his men.

"Captain," Whitlock finally spoke up, "we are going to continue operating as normal, and those trees are critical."

"Major Whitlock, you have my full attention."

"The men are currently unloading blackwash** and they will be painting those trees into cannons."***

Captain Jacobs stood there, mouth agape, at the foolishness he was hearing.

"Can you see the artillery at the north point?" Jasper asked.

"Only with my field glasses, sir, and not that clearly, but I can see it."

"Exactly, Captain. They are far enough that you cannot see the detail. And that's exactly what I hope to capitalize on. Should Billy Yank decide to get close enough to look up our skirts, I want him to see us armed to the teeth."

"Even though we are not? How long can we keep up the act?"

"This battery _will_ function as normal, we _will _treat those trunks as live cannons, and no one outside of these fortifications will be the wiser."

"If you don't mind my saying, sir," Jacobs swallowed hard before finishing his sentence as if mustering up the courage, "a plan like that takes some serious brass."

"Not at all, captain. The plan doesn't take any bravery. It's all in the acting." Jasper turned and peered out of the tent. He saw the men scurrying about. Some were already painting, while others were sawing and chopping trees down to an appropriate length and shape to mimic cannons. "And if these men are faithful enough to chop down trees in that storm, they are faithful enough to make anyone believe those cannons are real."

* * *

*Mortars, howitzers, and napoleons are three different types of cannons commonly used during the American Civil War.

**Blackwash – black paint

***Silly though this may sound, it was actually done around Galveston Bay after General Hebert pulled cannons from their positions around the island. It was done for the same reasons Jasper explains in the story.


	35. Machinations

**A/N: This is a quick little set up... the next chapter will be VERY busy. I continue to be blown away by the amazingness of my beta, MaleficentKnits. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

12 Sep 1862

Albert Baldwyn's recent schemes had netted some amazing results. Renting a room across from Major Whitlock had worked splendidly. While the regular appearance of a prostitute in the hotel had managed to get the rumors started, his ragtag band of miscreants had managed to ensure the talk of Whitlock's supposed loose morals and infidelity had spread.

Of course, he had arranged to clean up one of his gorillas enough to pass for an officer who managed to find audience with Miss Melody Taylor. Not only had he convinced her of her beau's unfaithfulness, but he had even managed to steal her handkerchief in the process. That particular token was something that he had been sitting on, trying to figure out how to use it to cause some form of distress to Whitlock.

While this social strife had worked well for a while, Baldwyn believed he had successfully broken off the courtship he was attempting to sabotage. Truth be told, he was quite close, but recently there had been some significant changes. For some reason he had yet to figure out, Baldwyn's plans had not come to fruition. Instead, over the past week, Major Whitlock and Miss Taylor had recommenced their courtship and the talk in the town had subsided.

Baldwyn had other irons in the proverbial fire, but he needed a new way to muck about with Whitlock. He needed to punish the major before he finished him off. He had a plan in place, and he was laying in waiting for the opportunity to spring the trap. All that remained was for his unsuspecting prey to arrive at the trap.

* * *

It had only been a few days since Major Jasper Whitlock had found himself in charge of an impotent battery on an obscure island, just off inside the bay across from one of the biggest cities in Texas. Galveston was a major port city prior to the war, and it would have remained such if the Union blockade of the Gulf had not proven to be so effective. They were still able to welcome the occasional blockade runner from Cuba. Sometimes a full boat was able to sneak past, but those seemed to be ever more rare events.

For all intents and purposes, Galveston should have been THE city thriving on the coast and in the state. Sadly, Major Whitlock had watched it stagnate over the past few months. His usual bright spirits, however, had been dashed by recent events. His position as General Hebert's adjutant had been taken away only a few weeks prior, when Hebert was reassigned. Galveston's military operations had been handed over to a pair of colonels, who had relegated him to a battery command. This would not have been too bad, by itself. Unfortunately, it was a command of a secondary position away from any potential action. To make matters worse, he had even been stripped of his cannons.

Perhaps he was wrong to look at it this way, but Jasper Whitlock could not help feeling stabbed in the back by General Hebert. However, he also knew that complaining about it or, even worse, sending a letter to Hebert, would only make his situation even more dire and depressing.

If he had been completely honest with himself, Jasper's biggest problem was his pride. He had been in the thick of combat. He had seen the elephant… twice! Now for him to be relegated to some meaningless and useless post was a major disappointment to him. He knew he was better than that assignment, and he was correct. It did not change the fact his assignment was over at this particular post. Major Whitlock's sense of duty and responsibility would not allow him to shortchange his work or his assignment.

In fact, even in such a desperate position, Major Whitlock's exceptional leadership still shone brightly. His idea of making fake cannons had spread around the Galveston area to the point that each battery that lost guns had replaced them with fake ones made of painted logs. Moreover, Colonel Cook was constantly using his battery on Pelican Island as the example for which all other posts needed to aspire. In spite of their condition, Major Whitlock had continued to operate as normal, including drills, cleanings, inspections, and so forth. In so doing, the enlisted men complained much more, but the word spread quickly that these men were better prepared than those batteries that maintained their weapons of war.

Along with his recent professional complications, Jasper was staring down various personal conflicts. His courtship with the lovely Melody Taylor had improved greatly since he cleared up accusations that he had not been paying for love by the hour. In spite of the fact that dueling had been banned for years, questioning a man's honor in such a manner had led to more conflict killings than perhaps anything else in the American south.

Fortunately, Jasper had finally learned who was behind these rumors: Albert Baldwyn. He was a member of the Mississippi Home Guard who held a personal vendetta and a grudge more than anyone Jasper had ever seen or heard of. They had met in person more than once, and each time he had managed to escape attempts on his life. Now, with all the social problems Jasper had been facing, he had finally come to realize the architect was none other the man who wanted him dead.

The one ace he held in his hand was that he not only knew who he was facing, but his expanded spare time in the battery had allowed him to set a trap of his own. The only thing he had to wait for was the next public dance, which was to be the upcoming Saturday night. It would also be the last, since Cook and Debray had decided such frivolous activities were unbecoming of a military installation. They had actually attempted to cancel it altogether, but the social outrage was enough that even the military-minded colonels recognized the need to allow one final ball.

For all of the pain and despair he had been feeling he could sense a change for the better: happiness and contentment. The storms of evil plans and personal disappointments were giving way to the shining rays of hope and anticipation. Perhaps this was the evolution of Hebert had foretold.

Jasper had all the plans in place. It was only a one more night until the monthly dance, and that is when he would spring a trap of his own. He would then focus much more on his courtship with Melody. Most importantly, though, he planned to have Baldwyn out of his life once and for all.


	36. Albatross

**A/N: Long story short, I lost my job at the ens of the spring. So, given the choice between writing and picking up odd jobs, writing lost out every time. Fortunately I am finally working again and I got my major assignment out of the way, and I have gotten back on the writing horse. There is a companion chapter that will be coming out very soon. If you will forgive me for getting a little personal, I am really coming to _hate _a certain character. Much love to the best beta anywhere: MaleficentKnits. Jasper Whitlock is property of S. Meyer. All else belongs to me. **

* * *

13 Sep 1862

Joshua Taylor had been very fortunate in his life. Multiple times early in his career he had come dangerously close to losing everything he owned. More than once his only ship had come close to meeting a watery demise. His personal finances required were such that he relied on the generosity of others, and the occasional theft of food, in order to eat. However his dogged determination to be successful and overcome any challenge eventually led him find wealth beyond even that of his daydreams back when he started out.

In the three and a half decades since his fleet expanded from one ship to eight, he had married Ruth Blake, a beautiful and loving woman, who had borne him a daughter who taught him a whole new meaning of what love is. Looking back on his years, he would have gladly traded all of his wealth and success if only he could guarantee them in his life.

Although not likely to admit it, he was personally and secretly filled with excitement for the dance that was coming this very night. Major Whitlock had already arranged to escort his sweet Melody to the ball, which would allow him an evening to be with his beloved bride of thirty years. Notwithstanding his wealth and standing, he found that time to be with her exclusively was rare, but remained every bit as special to him as the early days of their marriage and honeymoon. Tonight, he would be able to court his Ruth with neither daughter nor servant around.

He always wanted to tell her how much he loved spending time alone with her, but for all of his business acumen, Joshua never had developed as an orator or wordsmith. The various attempts he had made in the past were orally clumsy and came off as if he had been attempting to butter her up before confessing some great sin. He had, therefore, given up on expressing the depth of his feelings for her in words. Instead, he poured himself into his business in an attempt to demonstrate this affection by showering her with any whim her heart or mind could desire or imagine.

Ironically, it was this very work to which he had devoted himself for her that was also the very thing that had drawn him away from her on so many occasions.

And so it was this day.

"Mr. Taylor, sir," said a scraggly looking man with an unkempt beard standing before him. "None of us was expectin' it either."

Standing before Taylor in the office of his home was an unkempt stranger. The middle aged man bore a scraggly beard, but it was his calloused hands, raggedy clothes, and dark tan that validated that he was an old salt of a dock worker.

"But you are sure it is mine?" Joshua asked the stranger.

"Of course, sir. Ain't too many ships round here called the "Albatross."

Taylor nodded in agreement.

"Then again, most men don' aim to temp their fates with such a name either," the stranger muttered.

"If you understand Coleridge, then you understand it is the bird who led the sailors to safety, but it was the Mariner who…," Taylor trailed off upon seeing the glassy-eyed expression on the stranger's face. He was apparently not one to read epic poems.* "Perhaps I should just say that too many have misunderstood the moral of the story."

"I wouldn't know, sir, but you should hurry along."

"Too right you are," Taylor said as he stood up. He then reached into his coat's breast pocket and withdrew a small leather folder, pulled out two dollars, and offered them to the stranger. "I thank you for your trouble, sir."

The stranger accepted the money without a word but bowed his head as if to say thank you. With that, he excused himself and departed.

He gave the order to prepare his horse and buggy, stopped to give Ruth a kiss. He assured her that he would not miss their evening, but that she should be prepared to meet him at the ball since he would likely be detained with work. All in all, he was leaving no more than fifteen minutes after receiving the good news.

His ride was uneventful, but he was not bored. Mr. Taylor couldn't help himself from thinking about what might be aboard this ship. He was fortunate to have one ship run the blockade a few weeks back, but to have a second one so soon was nothing shy of amazing. He was truly amazed by his good fortune.

The trip from his house took the better part of a half hour, but he was actually excited as he crossed Mechanic Street heading towards his warehouse on the Strand. He couldn't see _The Albatross_ at any of the piers that were visible at the end of the block he was riding down, but that certainly didn't mean anything. It could have been docked anywhere in the harbor.

However, he did notice one thing that seemed strange. The main doors of the warehouse were not open. This was not necessary, as they were loading from the pier-side, but usually the laborers would leave the city-side doors ajar for both light and to allow a cross breeze while they work.

Taylor led his horse to stop parallel to the street, set the brake, and stepped off the buggy to go and see what bounty had arrived. He stepped up to the oversized cargo doors, and put all of his weight into it as he grabbed the handle to slide it open. The door creaked and the casters squealed as the warehouse opened up.

He looked inside to see nothing. There was barely even any light, as the late afternoon sun slipped through some uneven planks in the siding.

"Hello?" Taylor shouted as he stepped inside. He listened but heard no sounds except for the noises some distance outside of the warehouse. After a few seconds he spoke up again, "Is anyone still here?"

Suddenly, he saw a bright flash of light and a brief moment later he felt a searing pain in the back of head. He moved his right hand to his head and felt something warm and wet. Pulling it back to his face, he tried to focus, but his vision was blurry. All he could make out was that there was something dark on his hand.

Somewhere in his mind he understood this was blood, but he had not consciously realized that fact yet… just as he had not yet realized he was laying on the ground.

"Of courthe thomeone ith here, Mithter Taylor," a near-toothless man lisped with a chuckle. "We wouldn't 'f called you down here fer noffing."

Taylor laid there attempting to figure out what was going one. He now heard multiple voices, but they were glorified whispers more than anything else. He flopped his head over toward the sounds. Three outlines were silhouetted against the light outside of the door as if having a conference. Taylor was still not thinking clearly, but he was attempting to get up without considering what he was doing. When they saw this, the three men sprang into action.

One man hurried out the door and the other two turned toward him. As he stood, Taylor got dizzy and fell to his knees. Now that they were closer, he saw that one man holding a long piece of wood slightly larger than an axe handle. The other man grabbed Taylor and yanked him up to his feet again.

He focused his attention on the piece of wood. The unknown man twirled it a time or two in his hands as he stepped closer. Taylor, though his head was throbbing, was regaining himself mentally, but he could not yet control himself physically to resist. All he could do was mutter one feeble word.

"Why?"

The man walking toward him chuckled. "Becauthe I have to."

Taylor knew what was coming and he closed his eyes. A moment later his head jerked violently and his body spun quickly to his right as he took a hit directly to the jaw. He lay on the ground untouched for a few moments. He spat out the blood that had been pooling in his mouth. It mixed with the tears and mucus that he didn't realize he had been producing.

The sounds of horse hooves clopping echoed through the empty warehouse as the third man brought Taylor's buggy inside. The man with the lisp stepped closer. Taylor didn't want to think about what was coming. He didn't worry about the pain, because he could not imagine it being any worse that what he was already experiencing.

"Don't worry, Mithter Taylor. It'll all be over thoon enough."

Upon hearing this, Taylor could only think of one thing, and muttered his final word.

"Ruth."

A moment later, the task was complete.

* * *

*This is a reference to Samuel Taylor Coleridge's epic poem "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner." Many think the story proves the albatross to be bad luck to sailors. However, in the story, an albatross guided the ship to safety after a storm blew it off course. The Mariner later shot the bird, which brought the wrath of the sea spirits who punished the Mariner for doing this, and the crew for supporting him.


	37. Enemies and Allies

**A/N: As always, Jasper Whitlock is intellectual property of S. Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. MaleficentKnits is the most wonderful beta EVER. Pretty much everything else here is from my imagination... which is pretty sad, because there is a character I am really coming to hate. **

* * *

13 Sep 1862

Miss Melody Taylor and the major arrived late to the ball at the Gulf Star Hotel. The sun had already set and the gas lamps were providing all the available lighting. This final ball would be their last opportunity to touch each other in public for quite a while, or at least until some local aristocrat hosted one. The major pulled up to hotel, stepped down from the rig, and hurried around to his date and offered his hand to help her down.

Melody wore her finest dress, yellow with little white fleur-de-lis accents. These accents looked unusually natural against her milky and smooth skin. She was adorned with genuine pearl earrings and necklace, and even carried a parasol purely as an accessory. Between the cut of her dress and the manner in which her pearls draped around her neck, most men would find it difficult not to focus on her womanly endowments.

The major was also decked out in his finest attire. He wore his dress uniform with all the appropriate accessories: the yellow sash about his waist, officer's sword on his hip, white gloves, and large-brimmed slouch hat. In fact, his hat was so large, it draped unnaturally over his face. This fact was of little consequence, however, as all eyes would be on Miss Taylor.

As he helped her down, an enlisted man climbed up into the wagon, acting as an unofficial valet. Miss Taylor placed her hand just inside his arm as the major escorted her up the stairs, across the porch, and into the hotel.

As he did so, Albert Baldwyn stepped from the shadows on the far side of the wrap around porch. Baldwyn had situated himself perfectly in the one spot on the porch where no light shone. Now, he stepped with such care that he made no noise. He moved so stealthily in fact that no one in the hotel or on the street noticed him.

He had not planned on coming out of the shadows this early in the evening, but something about the major just did not seem right. Baldwyn could not put his finger on it, but something was amiss. He came from his hiding place just to see if he could put his finger on it…

He had stepped forward to get a better view of the couple as they went inside hoping for a glimpse or a clue of what was off. He inched forward until he was standing just outside of the window nearest to him, where he could see them enter into the lobby.

He watched as they stood there for a few moments speaking with each other before Melody offered her parasol to the major as if expecting him to check it like a coat. This he did dutifully, and no sooner had he returned to his date then Constance Austin found them. Baldwyn truly wished he could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation. In his mind he filled in the gas of conversation as Melody glared at Constance, and Whitlock rolled his head, and Constance clearly flirted with him. This had been precisely the kind of thing Baldwyn had hoped to cause before deciding on his course of action.

It all came to an abrupt end when Constance leaned forward and kissed Whitlock on the cheek. She appeared to blurt out one final line as Melody grabbed the major's arm and dragged him off into the ballroom.

Baldwyn smiled and slid back into the shadows, where he would patiently hide and await the arrival of his special guest. He had secreted himself away for the express purpose of watching the hammer fall down upon Miss Taylor and Major Whitlock. He waited patiently, knowing that his messenger should arrive exactly at 9:00pm. He had already been waiting for the better part of ninety minutes and knew his wait would be over soon. Then, something most unexpected occurred.

"_Stephens,_" someone whispered from somewhere nearby.

Hearing his alias was not what surprised Baldwyn, but hearing it here was. Only one man knew he was there, and it was the man he hired to deliver the surprise he was waiting for.

"_Stephens,_" the voice whispered again. This time Baldwyn could tell that it was just on the other side of the porch's side rail. He stepped forward furtively, knowing that he would only be disturbed like this if there was a problem.

"_What did you mess up, you incompetent ass?_" Baldwyn whispered as he leaned over the rail.

As soon as he leaned over, two men sprang up and grabbed him by his coat. Quicker than he could realize he was in trouble, Baldwyn had been restrained on the ground and gagged before they dragged him down the street for half a block, then into the alley between the hotel and the bank right next to it. He was picked up, shoved against and pinned to the wall so hard he lost his breath for a moment, but that was not what concerned him.

Baldwyn's mind reeled with questions. How was he found out? How did he fall into a trap? How could he forget his man spoke with a lisp?

"Mr. Baldwyn, you have been a problem, the likes of which I have never known before," Jasper Whitlock said stepping out from the alley's shadows.

"Mph fkry!" Baldwyn muffled through the gag.

"Shut up."

Baldwyn let out an unintelligible muffle.

"Now, you have been the cause of more time and trouble than you are really worth," Jasper began. "And while I have prepared quite the speech to dictate point by point the nuisance you have become, I have chosen a decidedly different path."

Jasper waited for a moment. He saw no fear in his captive's eyes. He wanted to change that. More than any of his words could express, he wanted this man to understand how he made others hurt.

"I am going to give you one opportunity to speak before we end this…," Jasper paused, looking for the right word, "unpleasantness, between us."

With a nod, one of the two men with Jasper reached up and pulled out the bandana shoved into Baldwyn's mouth.

"Of course," Jasper spoke up, "you are smart enough not to make a ruckus. Bad things will happen if you do."

The look in his eye was enough that Baldwyn understood he was hearing the truth.

"You're supposed to be inside," Baldwyn croaked.

"I know… that is the second time you have believed that Captain Jacobs is me," Jasper added a quiet _tsk tsk _at the end, as if he was speaking to a child. "Advice from a tracker; follow the footprints, not the trail."

Jasper's condescension infuriated Baldwyn, but he still managed to think relatively clearly in spite of it.

"How did you know about tonight?"

"You left breadcrumbs all over town, Baldwyn, and all the little mind games and rumors were too precise to be accidents. A battle is all about strategy, and the only clear move you had was to take another shot at Melody or me tonight… so I decided to turn your flank before you could land your offensive."

In spite of Whitlock's bravado, Baldwyn instantly understood that the major did not know what he had arranged to happen that very afternoon. Even with the upper hand in this conflict, Whitlock had planned this trap _before _he knew anything that had been done. That meant the forthcoming announcement of Mr. Taylor's death would still be a surprise. That Melody's tears and sorrow would still be genuine. That, in turn, would cause Whitlock's pain and sorrow.

Baldwyn also knew, if he had surmised the major correctly, that Whitlock was truly a deadly force, but his moral compass would only allow him to use that force to protect. He would never harm or kill out of vengeance.

All of these thoughts swirled around Baldwyn's head. When put together, he realized he still held the better cards in this poker game.

In his relief, Baldwyn let out a sound that was something between a sigh of relief and a laugh.

Jasper's confidence disappeared. He could sense the palpable shift in the atmosphere between them.

"What did you do?" Jasper demanded.

A smile crept slowly across Baldwyn's face.

"With all your speechifying about tracking, I am in awe that you caught the fox only after he raided the henhouse."

Jasper's fear grew, but it was more out of his uncertainty than it was from worry about what Baldwyn may have done.

"Tell me," Jasper said through gritted teeth.

Baldwyn's smile seemed to widen, then he winked at the major.

"TELL ME!" Jasper bellowed.

His fear turned to anger. His eyes shifted back and forth, as if looking for the answer that Baldwyn refused to give. Thoughts raced through his mind, but Jasper just could not fathom how his pursuer could have the upper hand. Baldwyn was a liar, but he knew the relief Baldwyn expressed was too genuine to be a bluff.

He stood there silently looking for something to say, but nothing came to him. Distant church bells broke the silence, slowly tolling nine times, letting the city know of the hour.

The longer he waited the more Baldwyn relished the moment. Confidence oozed from him.

Finally, Jasper nodded to the man holding the bandana, who then promptly shoved it back into Baldwyn's gaping mouth. Unfortunately, that did not seem to stop his cocksure smiling.

"If I ever see you in Galveston again," he paused, "I swear upon anything you consider holy, I will end you."

The severity in Jasper's voice let Baldwyn know this was no idle threat, and the smile left Baldwyn's face.

"Gentlemen," Jasper addressed his goons, "you know my stipulations?"

"No lynchin'," said one of them.

"And no talkin' 'bout whatever it is we ain't gonna do," said the other.

The major nodded.

"Enjoy your weekend leave," he said as they started dragging Baldwyn off further down the alley.

Jasper heard one of them promising that, per the major's orders, they were not going to kill him, but that there were no other restrictions.

He couldn't help but feel a little relieved that he would never see Baldwyn again. Now that his game was done, he was finally ready to turn to the dance to spend the remainder of the evening with Melody and relieve the captain who was, once again, playing a masquerade.

Jasper rounded the corner and walked up the street to the main entrance of the Gulf Star Hotel, but was surprised to see a large commotion. Strangers in varying levels of formal attire bustled into and out of the hotel. Most disturbing, however, was that he saw Jacobs standing on the porch of the hotel.

"Major Whitlock!" he shouted as soon as he saw Jasper. "Major!" He bounded down the steps three at a time and closed the distance between them in six steps.

"What in God's name, Jacobs?"

"You need to get in there, _now_!"

"Report, Captain," Jasper clearly slipped back into a commanding role.

"Someone just came in and told Miss Taylor that her father was found dead in his warehouse," Jacobs blurted, as if spitting it out would somehow make the bad news more palatable.

Jasper immediately knew Baldwyn was responsible. He did not know how, but he now understood the fox in the henhouse reference. He also knew exactly what he needed to do.

"Jacobs, track down Johnson and Colley. Tell them to ignore the first rule," Jasper ordered, but he saw the hesitation in the captain's face. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Jacobs said snapping to attention and offering a salute.

"We were just behind this very hotel, not even four minutes ago," Jasper pointed back the direction he came from. "Did Mrs. Taylor arrive?"

"Not as of yet, sir."

"Good work, Jacobs. Double time it and find them post haste."

"Yes, sir!"

Jacobs starting running immediately in the direction Jasper indicated, and disappeared around the corner and into the alley in a matter of seconds.

Jasper turned his attention to the hotel. Heading to the front steps, he ordered a nearby sergeant to find the Taylor's carriage. As he cleared the front door, he saw a crowd gathered in the sitting room to his right. He rather carelessly forced his way to through the gaggle of people to the front and saw Melody sitting on the couch crying. This was not a surprise. The fact that Constance Austin was consoling her _did _shock him.

There she was, her right arm around Melody's shoulder's and her right hand petting Melody's hair. Her left hand was holding both of Melody's hands. She was also whispering something in her ear. Jasper could not hear anything she was saying over the din of the assembled crowd.

He sat down on Melody's right and she fell immediately into his hug, away from Miss Austin. Without saying a word, Jasper guided her to her feet and tried to lead her outside. Connie stayed on her other side, as if willing her to find the strength to move.

The ocean of bodies in the small room parted as they stepped up and moved out of the room. The nameless sergeant had not only found, but had managed to pull the Taylor's carriage around to the front of the hotel by the time Jasper and Connie had managed to guide Melody out. They assisted her up into the front seat, where she sat with her head in her hands, still crying. Jasper ran around to the other side and climbed up to take the reins.

He checked around quickly to make sure the path was clear, and he noticed someone still holding the side of the wagon. He looked over only to see that is was Constance. She stood poised, ready to climb in onto the bench with them.

"I've got this, Connie," Jasper said.

She held his gaze for another moment as if to silently ask, _are you sure?_

Understanding, Jasper nodded quickly. Constance stepped away and Jasper was off with a loud, _hyah!_

He had no idea if Mrs. Taylor had heard this news. He hoped so, because he had no idea how he was going to tell her. Surprisingly, he was less worried about Melody. Although he did not have any reason to know or even suspect how she would react to this tragedy, he was surprised to realize that he could seem to sense her emotions. They were strong, and they were sad, but they were not anything that cause him any alarm… at least not for her.

In no time, they were out of town and on the path to the family's estate on the north side of the island. Melody, still in obvious shock, had stopped crying and sat upright, but she was not any better. In fact, Jasper could see that her body was flopping listlessly to and fro with the bumps and bounces of the road. Jasper reached over and put his right arm around her and held Melody close to him as they continued on the journey.

Traveling in relative silence, and now securely, Jasper was left to the thoughts bouncing around in his head. He was trying hard to focus on what was happening, or at least what he hoped was happening to Albert Baldwyn. However, as much as he tried to avoid it, he could not help but think about Constance Austin. She had taken so much pleasure in his misery, whether or not she had been the cause of it. Yet for some reason, Connie had been there at both his and Melody's side, comforting and preparing to assist further. He was confused by her sudden shift.

In the distance, he finally saw the lights from the Taylor House. Jasper popped the reins urging the horses to move along with more haste. As they drew nearer, Jasper cleared his mind. He thought even harder about how to address Mrs. Taylor.

He soon realized he had even less time than he had anticipated.

Mrs. Taylor was sitting on the porch. Her hair had been done up nicely and tucked under a blue bonnet, that matched her exquisite dress, and a couple of strategically curled locks draped down to her clavicle. She stood as the carriage pulled up. She could see there were two people, but could not tell who they were.

"Joshua?" she called out.

Jasper pulled up and stopped the horses.

"It's Jasper Whitlock, Ma'am," Jasper answered. "I've brought Melody home."

"Oh my… whatever is the matter?"

Jasper opened his mouth to speak, and for the first time since he could remember that he did not have an answer.

"Major?"

He could hear the worry in her voice. It was edgy and had quavered. He was not prepared for that. It broke his heart to feel her fear mixed with Melody's broken heart.

"Mrs. Taylor," Jasper finally began…

He could not remember anything he said after that.


	38. Funeral

No excuses. Just another chapter posted sheepishly, ashamed of the delay. MaleficentKnits is the most amazing beta ever. Thank you! Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. No infringement intended. All else is mine. Enjoy.

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19 Sep 1862

The funeral had only finished an hour before. Mrs. Ruth Taylor had still not come to admit that she was a widow. Her husband was, in her mind, just away on business. He had trips in the past that lasted a week or two at the time. Perhaps she would feel differently with the passage of time, but for now, she was still numb with disbelief. Perhaps that was why she had sat through the entire funeral service in the same manner that she would have at a Sunday service. Her brother, Hiram Blake, a short, black-haired man who was almost as wide as he was tall, sat beside her with one arm embracing his sister in a strong, but comforting, hug.

Jasper was doing the same with Melody. The only difference was that she had already accepted reality. Over the past week she had shed what seemed to be a lifetime's worth of tears. Perhaps she had simply wept until there were none left, because she sat there, in Jasper's arms staring blankly down at her white gloved hands.

Jasper warmly caressed her shoulder as they traveled back to the Taylor House. The open-air carriage allowed them to be bathed in the warm September sun; its bright, shining beams taunting the darkness and sadness that covered their journey. They traveled without talking, but it was not a silent trip. Jasper listened to the wheels crunching on gravel and the even, rhythmic clopping of shod hoofs on the path. That combination was a soothing, if not intoxicating, combination that relaxed him.

She never told him, but his coolness helped keep Melody at ease and at peace.

Within the half hour, they had made it back to the estate and their silence had given way to the functional conversation of helping the ladies out of the carriage and up toward the house. As he neared the door, Jasper was hit with a wall of competing smells. A combination of aromas all fought for dominance: fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, a fresh pie, and something seasoned with ample amounts of pepper.

Jasper did not know if this is how it worked everywhere, but he certainly knew a southern funeral because of the copious amount of prepared foods that were brought to the grieving family. It was something he remembered very clearly after Mr. Tazewell, a neighboring farmer, died. His mother had baked a potato dish for the elderly widow because the Tazewell's attended church services with the Whitlock's. Even though they were not very close, it was what you did for a neighbor. It was as engrained as saying "sir" and "ma'am." In that brief moment, Jasper remembered watching his mother very carefully mete out just enough ingredients to bake the food they were taking over. Now, even here amongst the urban and metropolitan elite, Jasper saw that the same traditions hold true.

"Major Whitlock?" Mr. Blake spoke up.

Jasper snapped back from his momentary daze. He saw Melody's uncle holding a hand out, directly Jasper into the room on the right. He followed the suggestion and led Melody into the sitting room, where she sat down on the divan. Jasper threw protocol and caution to the wind and sat down next his girlfriend, even though there was no chaperone in the room.

Melody had taken her seat almost mechanically. Her grief and sorrow were so obvious that Jasper not only empathized, he seemed to share those very feelings as well. He looked past her, into the hallway. The door to Mr. Taylor's office was closed. That was something he had not considered before. What would become of his business? What would become of the family's income? They had not built their fortune on cotton, as so many others had. The blockade had taken its toll on their fortune, but how much longer would it hold out? He was experiencing a whole new level of concern for the Taylors.

"Sadie," Melody spoke to the slave girl in the room without looking up, "leave us be."

"Yes, miss," Sadie answered and walked obediently toward the door. Jasper watched her, wanting to mouth the words _thank you _to her, but Sadie left without turning her eyes back toward them.

They sat for a moment in silence before Jasper moved closer to Melody. He put his left arm around her and held her hands that were lying in her lap. She did not relax as he had expected.

"Jasper," she said with a sigh, trailing off back into silence.

"Yes, Mel?"

She turned and looked up at him.

"What happened?"

Jasper sat there not quite sure how to respond. Finally, he chose to play the ignorance card and mumbled something about not knowing what she meant.

"I hear things…," she began haltingly. "There are rumors. About the man who…"

"Shhhh…." Jasper knew this is what she had meant. He also did not want to address it.

"Jasper," she said, almost pleadingly, "I must know. Whatever… you know."

He sighed heavily and weighed the options. Telling her what he knew also made him liable to speaking with the local constabulary as well. _Of course, _he thought, _if the rumors are there, but they have not as yet sought me, they must not give credence to said rumors._

"Please," her voice was quiet, but pleading.

He paused a moment longer, thinking about being in her position. How much would he want to know? The answer was simple; he'd want to know everything.

"There are things that I do know," Jasper spoke quietly, but with resolve. "Names, places, and the like."

Melody looked down and placed her head on his chest.

"Tell me," she spoke again in her quiet, pleading voice.

Jasper reached up and stroked her hair soothingly with his right hand. He spoke in a soft voice, as if attempting to comfort her further.

"It was Baldwyn. The same man who hunted me and threatened you."

He paused, waiting to see her reaction.

There was none.

However, the silence did not provide a sense of finality; just the opposite, in point of fact. Jasper could tell that she was simply waiting to hear more, so he continued.

"I thought he was gone, and I had chased him off for good. He stayed out of sight and played like a puppet master, pulling the strings on marionettes. His machinations were in place, but he made a mistake and I found out he was here. I knew it. I planned for him. That night, I had my own trap in place. He stepped into it perfectly. We caught him right before we received the news.

"You need to understand that even though I knew he was here, I could not have imagined or known the kind of sickness he had in mind. Such things are incomprehensible… nay… unthinkable. He exacted his evil plan before we had been able to catch him."

Jasper paused again, waiting for a reaction of any kind from Melody, or even a hint of a reaction. There was none. She continued to sit there, next to him with her head on his chest.

Without moving, she quietly asked, "What happened to him?"

He wanted to answer with a dismissive, _never you mind_, but he knew that would not suffice.

"The man was captured and taken out of town."

Jasper hoped that would be enough to satisfy her.

"So," Melody said slowly, "he could still return."

He had not planned for that response.

"It's quite doubtful he will return."

"You sound so confident, but you offer so little evidence. Had you not run him off before?"

Jasper swallowed hard. He did not want to tell the full story, but clearly it was going to have to come out.

"Baldwyn has been dealt with in a manner most appropriate. A couple of trustworthy men I know well held him captive for a few hours. Later they escorted him to the railroad station. They waited, of course, for the night watch to come on duty… it's much easier to sneak past that crew than the regulars. The greatest challenge was getting past the station and onto the bridge itself. Walking on the trestle-bridge is most inconvenient and tedious at best, but they took him a quarter-mile or so out onto the bridge… just far enough to be over the water." Jasper paused, not sure how to continue. The details were rather graphic, and that is not something she needed to hear. "To spare any further extraneous details, they left him hugging a rail, secured in irons so that he could not escape."

He concluded his explanation and waited. Melody said nothing, but Jasper knew that he did not need to say anything further.

After a few more moments of silence, she started crying again.

Jasper attempted to hug her, but she shook him off and stood up, still crying.

"Melody…," he began but trailed off, unsure of what to say that would not sound identical to his previous comfortings.

"Get out," she said softly.

"I understand," Jasper said standing up. "You want to be alone. I shall check on you soon."

"No."

Jasper paused.

"No, no, no," she spat through her sobs. "Never come back."

"Pardon?" Jasper was shocked, "Melody, darling, what…"

"If you can allow that, you are as evil as he is, and I cannot abide that… I cannot allow _you _into my life if that is what you are capable of."

Jasper knew there was no answer for that. Not at that moment. No rebuttal or explanation could have reached her in that moment. Instead, he turned and walked to the door. He saw Sadie standing just outside the door, as if she had been awaiting orders the whole time.

"Watch her closely, please," Jasper asked her. "Miss Taylor is going to need a lot of support right now."

"Yessir," Sadie said with a nod.

Jasper then saw himself out and toward the stable to collect Tex. For the duration of his journey back into Galveston he focused on the last words Melody uttered.

"…if that is what you are capable of."

It played backward and forward in his head.

_What am I capable of? _Jasper wondered.

He had been in the thick of the fight. He had seen the elephant. He knew what happened in combat, both the good and the bad. He had sent men to their deaths and he had saved men from certain death. Was he capable of granting life as easily as he took it? Perhaps it was a zero-sum game. On life's tally sheet, was he contributing more good in the world than bad? Was he to decide that Baldwyn's death was morally and ethically justified? Was this the same as in combat?

Questions like these swirled maddeningly around inside his head.

Jasper returned to the Gulf Star as fast as Tex could get him there. Entering his room, Jasper stripped and crawled into bed, determined to sleep these thoughts out of his head. Alas, he soon realized the thoughts hurting his head were merely a smoke screen for the pain he was feeling in his soul. The logical battle hid the emotional one.

Fortunately, Jasper knew both battles could be put on hold with enough whiskey.


	39. Goddammit

**A/N: Here's another offering to a candid audience. I do hope this is as emotional and surprising as I intended to write it. MaleficentKnits is an amazing beta. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. Everything else belongs to me, except Sabine Pass. That belongs to Texas, and I have no intention of messing with Texas. **

* * *

27 – Sep – 1862

Major Whitlock sat at the round, wooden table in the dining room of the Gulf Star Hotel, which doubled as Confederate officers' quarters. It was a nice hotel, but Jasper was particularly grateful for the convenient meeting locations that were available in the absence of an office or conference room. The dining room did not offer the best in privacy, but that did not bother Jasper. In the field, he had grown accustomed to speaking around a table in a tent where any passing ear could hear. Of course, privacy, for the major, was a moot point since he was no longer privy to confidential or sensitive information following his reassignment.

He was waiting for Captain Jacobs. Jasper detested waiting. He had patience in combat, but in this professional setting, he could not comprehend tardiness. Admittedly, this was unlike Jacobs, but it was a particular irritation for Jasper, especially with what he wanted to discuss.

The restaurant was quiet, except for the two employees busying themselves with some kind of work. He looked out the window, and saw that the usually active Boulevard Heck was relatively calm. Saturday afternoons were usually quieter, as people prepared for Sunday worship services, but this… this was far more placid than Jasper was accustomed. Something just didn't feel right, and he did not care for.

The waiter stopped by his table twice before Jasper agreed to take some wine and the cracker tray that was being offered. Jasper looked over the selection of crackers and cheeses, unsure where to begin amid the sea of selections. Nonetheless, he sampled a few items while continuing to wait. Although it seemed much longer, it took another quarter hour before the captain finally arrived.

"I apologize, sir," Jacobs said as he approached the table.

"Hold on to your excuses, Captain," Whitlock blurted. "You may need them another time."

"It is not so much an excuse, as an explanation, sir…."

He trailed off as Whitlock waved him off and held out a hand indicating that he should take a seat. The captain obeyed silently.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Jacobs did not dare speak up out of turn. He had never seen the major like this and it made him feel quite uncomfortable. What he did not realize is that was precisely what Jasper intended.

In their silence, Jasper pushed the plate toward Jacobs, silently offering him some of the samples. Jacobs, feeling as though this was more of an order than an offer, chose quickly. Jasper laughed, which both confused and concerned the captain.

"That cheese you just ate is perhaps the most disgusting garbage I have ever had the misfortune to cross my lips."

"What, sir? The bleu cheese?"

"_Blue cheese_? Is that what it is called? It is as poorly named as it tastes."

"Not at all, Major," Jacobs responded coolly. "It is a rather full-flavored French cheese named…"

"Full-flavored?" Jasper interrupted. "Is that some fancy way of saying that it's off? It tastes worse than three-day old milk."

Jacobs chuckled.

"Well now," Jasper said returning to a professional demeanor. "I have not asked you to come and educate me on European dairy. Have heard about Sabine Pass*?"

"I have heard some scuttlebutt** but nothing consistent enough to put the pieces together. You know how that stuff is; it's either dead accurate or not even close to the truth."

"Well, let me make it clear: Sabine Pass fell to the Union."

"What?" Jacobs asked with both surprise and what sounded a little like fear.

"That's about how I felt as well," Jasper lied about that. "However, it makes sense. The blockade has gone on long enough. An attack was inevitable."

"But why Sabine? Should they not have attacked here?"

"All things considered, it is a wise choice. Had I been in command, it is not the path I would have chosen, but in hindsight, I see the strategy. By hitting Sabine Pass, they control land access on the Gulf coast, without having to risk a potentially costly assault on the largest city in the state. If an attack of Galveston fails, they can still bifurcate the western theater with a safe place for the army to land."

"How long ago did they hit?"

"It fell the day before yesterday. I wish I had known sooner, but I am relatively out of the loop since Cook came to town."

"So how does this affect us?"

"That's what I like about you, Jacobs," Whitlock said with a smile. "You ask the right questions. Unlike what some others may think, this does affect us directly."

Jacobs could tell by Whitlock's tone of voice that those "others" were the colonels. Whitlock was not one to wield condescension very often, but the captain saw that he did it quite well.

"I firmly believe that with the success of hitting the Pass, we are the next logical target, even if it is nothing more than an expeditionary force, they will come here… and soon."

"If I may be so bold," he paused waiting to see if the major would stop him. He didn't. "It seems clear that these are not orders being passed down. Are our hands not tied without direct orders?"

"That depends on whose orders you are following."

Jacobs stared at him curiously.

"I am issuing you a direct order. In your non-duty time, I want you to visit and observe all the batteries on the northern neck of the island. I want to see what exactly is going on, and I also want to know how much actual firepower we do have available on the island."

"With all due respect, Major, do you have the authority to issue such an order?"

"That is a question you should never ask," Jasper sighed. "I will always answer in the affirmative."

"I understand that, but...," he stopped speaking when saw Whitlock hold up a hand.

"Pray tell, what is wrong or inappropriate about internal reconnaissance? I'm not asking you to do anything other than speak to people and make notes."

"You are well within your rights to do so, but it sounds outside of your… _somewhat more limited_ command."

It was clear that Jacobs had attempted to weigh his words carefully. Unfortunately, it was just as clear by the look upon the major's face that he had failed to tread lightly enough.

"Well, well, well," interrupted a sweet, female voice. "It seems that there is not enough work to keep you fellows occupied sufficiently."

Jacobs stood immediately to greet their visitor, but only out of social necessity. Jasper knew the voice immediately and opted not to stand.

"Afternoon, Connie. I should have known it was you when I felt a cold breeze blow in from the south."

"Oh, Major Whitlock," she slapped him playfully on the shoulder and still spoke with her artificially sweet voice that she tended to use in public. "You always did have a way of charming women."

"I would offer you a seat, but unfortunately there do not appear any to be available," Jasper replied drolly.

Constance gazed slowly around the otherwise empty dining room and mockingly extended her fingers one-by-one, as if she were genuinely counting the chairs in the room. She finished with a big production by _counting_ the two empty chairs at their table.

"Not to worry," she said forcefully, "the good Captain Jacobs was just leaving."

Jasper stared at her with all the condescension he could muster.

"Oh for real, Major Whitlock," she said completely unfazed by his attempted intimidation, "it's not like you two are planning how to rid us of Billy Yank once and for all."

"Woman," Jasper said with as much shock as anger, "do you ever think about what comes out of your mouth, or do you prefer to be surprised just like everyone else?"

"Posh," she said sitting down. "That'll be all, Captain Jacobs. Thank you."

"You really do forget that the world does not revolve around you, didn't you? You know, you have a nasty habit of doin' that. I think a few days alone with a special doctor would do you wonders."

"Jacobs, are you still here?" she asked, not even bothering to look at the man she was addressing.

"In all fairness, sir, I _did _attempt to warn you she was coming," the captain said as if trying to explain his tardiness now.

"Wha…?" Jasper muttered. "The empty streets should have been a clue she was on her way."

"Enough banter, Jasper," she said, choosing to ignore his insults. "I want to know what you intend to do about Miss Taylor."

Jasper was shocked. This was the last thing that he had ever imagined her wanting to address.

"Jacobs, are you still here?" Jasper asked, not even bothering to look at the man he was addressing. He intentionally mimicked Constance, as much for comedy to lighten the mood as it was to dismiss the captain.

"Sir?"

"You have your orders, captain. Report back to me by Wednesday."

"Yes sir," Jacobs said as he stood, saluted, then departed. He did steal one long glance back and saw the pair staring daggers at each other. He could not help but wonder in amazement at the test of wills that was about to ensue.

"If any other person had spoken to me as you did just now, Major Whitlock, I would have slapped him."

"I'm almost disappointed that you did not do so."

"And why might that be?"

"I might have been trying to get slapped."

"I am more than happy to oblige, Jasper."

"I'm sure you are, Connie, but I am more curious as to why you did not."

Constance sighed heavily. For the first time that day, she did not have a ready answer. She looked over toward one of the waiters, called for a glass of wine, then sat down across from Jasper in the seat Jacobs had vacated.

"Jasper, you always have a retort. For once in your life, will you shut your mouth long enough to let someone else speak?"

She paused, waiting for Jasper to respond.

He didn't.

"What I have to say will be hard for me to get through."

Jasper sat back in his chair, as if pondering if he was physically capable of fulfilling such a request. The waiter brought the wine Constance had ordered and then disappeared just as quickly. Jasper leaned forward and nodded his consent.

"You have my word, Connie. Speak your peace."

Constance picked up the glass and stared at it, as if it would somehow give her more confidence in her impending confrontation. A moment later, she pressed it to her lips, leaned back, and swigged more than half of the glass in one go.

"You hurt me."

His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open slightly in pure shock; the anger and desire to yell at her were both clearly painted on his face. She calmly pressed her right index finger against her lips as a silent reminder of his promise.

"Yes, you hurt me, Jasper. I was young, foolish and in love with you, and the way you left you made it clear that any feelings you had for me were gone. I was crushed when you went off to play soldier. You never wrote. Oh, you wrote some people here, but not me. You never made mention of me, or asked about me…. The silence was deafening, and it was clear that I was no longer a part of your life. Nor would I be.

"I was crushed in a way that you could not begin to comprehend. I hate you for leaving me, because all I wanted was for you to love me the way I loved you. But, I still remember how you looked and sounded the day you came to me for help. So, unless I am mistaken, now that Melody sent you away you are finally beginning to understand how I felt. And while I want to revel in your sorrow and misery, I cannot abide allowing you to suffer like that because I still love you."

Constance stopped talking and the silence in the air between them seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. The longer Jasper had to absorb her confession the more it weighed upon him. He felt the battle starting inside of him. On one side stood compassion and its close ally, sympathy, while on the other side stood the opponents that were anger and resentment.

Somehow, he knew which combatant would win this internal battle of his emotions. The hurt was too deep and the scars upon his soul were still too tender to forgive her. Her infidelity had not been an accident, nor had it been a singular event. Her confession had to be fabricated.

Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he wanted to believe her.

Here she sat, now sipping on the wine remaining in her glass. Her hands were shaking in spite of her obvious attempts to appear calm. Constance was baring everything to him under the premise of helping him repair his relationship with Melody.

What cause would she have for lying? While logic dictated she was scheming, all of the physical evidence before him showed the exact opposite.

Minutes of silence passed while Jasper pondered these things, and Constance busied herself with her now empty glass. Slowly, shyly, Jasper raised his hand like a school boy who was scared of the schoolmarm.

"May I ask a question, now?"

"What is it?" Connie could not hide the quiver in her voice either.

"If you loved me as deeply as you claim, why did you… '_overly acquaint yourself_' with those other men?"

"I come to you with an olive branch, and you want to complain about it?" Connie spoke with a true sense of anger under her breath.

"Connie, you come to me with a question and then a confession. All of my anger, hurt, and hatred are predicated upon your infidelity, which you have never denied and, at different times, have even dared to flaunt. All of that pain that I supposedly inflicted upon you is likewise built upon that very same rock. So, if you loved me, and still love me, as you claim, then perhaps you could explain why such love included the passion of two other men."

She scowled at him, not wanting to answer. As if trying to help, Jasper leaned across the table, scooped up her wine glass, and held it up to draw the waiter's attention. He returned with the chilled bottle in hand. Jasper thanked him as Connie was obviously too distracted to notice.

"I was convinced my feelings were unrequited; that you chose not feel the same way I did. So…," she trailed off, pausing to gulp down some wine as though it were liquid courage. "I wanted to make you jealous. I figured that if you saw, or even heard, about me with someone else, you would come to me in a rage… that you would finally show something for me."

"You wanted to make us closer by driving a wedge between us?"

"I never imagined you would use that as an excuse to leave."

"An excuse!?" Jasper barked louder than he had intended, drawing the attention of the wait staff. He eyed them sheepishly and noticed another couple had entered the restaurant. Lowering his voice, he continued. "That was no excuse, Connie. That was the _reason _I left."

"Don't. Don't say it again."

"I don't even know what to say," Jasper leaned back in his chair. He was incredulous. Trying to process what was going on.

"Truth be told," Connie spoke up, "I have not been courted since you left. I've had plenty of gentleman callers, but no suitors."

Jasper went back, in his mind, to the first ball after he returned from Shiloh. There he had met Connie again, in front of quite a crowd. He had wanted to call her every name he could think of. If given the opportunity, he would have gladly relived that night a hundred times over, just so that he could invent new insults. However, he never had the chance that evening, because General Hebert had interjected his own comments. He impugned her honor quickly and often, even suggesting she would defile herself with NCOs rather than just sully herself with any available officer.

To him, this moment felt like two thousand midnights ago, rather than a few months.

Yet that anger and frustration, the hurt and the rage, all of it now jeopardized by the past fifteen minutes. A confession of love and an explanation of misguided judgment stood a solid chance of changing his opinion on Constance Austin. He had come to enjoy playing with her as an enemy. Now, coming to him with an offer of playing matchmaker, or at least match repairer, she had shown herself in a light that was much harder to hate.

"Connie," Jasper spoke slowly and softly, "I trust you can appreciate this will take some time to digest. I cannot just switch rails and change how I feel or how I think."

"I knew this was a bad idea," Connie muttered.

"I can assure you, it was not your _worst_ idea ever."

Jasper immediately wished he could take those words back. He knew that he might as well have cut her with a knife, and it would have likely caused less pain. Throwing that back at her was not the way to treat her. At least, that moment was not the time to do it.

Her response, however, not only surprised, but shocked Jasper. She giggled. Then the giggle grew into laughter.

"You always did know how to make me laugh," she said sweetly and with her usual, bright smile. "I have said all I came to say. My offer remains should you decide you do desire to return to Miss Taylor's side."

Constance then gulped down what remained in her glass, stood up, and excused herself.

Jasper, however, couldn't move. He felt heavy, as though his muscles had been replaced with stones. He sat there replaying the last few minutes over in his head. She had taken his barbs with surprising ease. She had even left with a smile, which actually concerned him.

He heard her laugh in his head and her sweet compliment. It was then, only after she had left, that a wave of comprehension washed over him. That hyper-happy tone of voice was one that he recognized, but had forgotten. It was what she had always used when she was lying. He had heard it many times when they courted, but also since he had returned. He had not, in fact, made her laugh. He had hurt her as bad as he thought, and she went to the one defense that she had: laughter.

Yet she still ended by repeating her offer. Could it be that she really did still love him? Could she really still care about his happiness?

He fished a dollar coin from his pocket and dropped it on the table. That was more than enough for his disgusting cheese, her wine, and a sizeable gratuity.

He wasn't all that concerned with money right then anyway. If Connie and Melody were not enough to ponder, he still had to worry about damn Billy Yank and what he believed was an impending attack on Galveston.

"Goddammit," he muttered to himself as he stood up. "I should've become a priest."

* * *

*Sabine Pass is a location on the Texas coast near the Louisiana border.  
**Scuttlebutt is an old naval term for rumors or chatter. It dates back to the 18th century.


	40. Journal

**A/N: The next chapter is going to take a couple of weeks at the minimum. Here's a quick, but important, piece of the puzzle. Enjoy. Now for the legalese: Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer; no infringement intended.**

* * *

03 – Oct – 1862

Pelican Island Battery

Jasper Whitlock's Journal Entry

_With the changing of the month has come the cooler weather. The days are still quite warm, but not so hot that I sweat in the shade. A pleasant change has come in the nights. It is finally cool enough that I can don my skivvies and sleep under a blanket. Agreeable though the weather has become, with it has come an almost eerie calm. _

_It is a quiet calm about the sea that unnerves me. I have felt this sense of impending sorrow since last__ Saturday, to be more accurate. "Something wicked this way comes" is how Hebert had described this very feeling. That remained with me. Admittedly, he took it from some old book or play, which one he failed to mention. Regardless, such adage remains accurate. _

_Regardless of what lies ahead, I remain confident in the abilities and judgment of my junior officer and NCOs. Captain Jacobs has maintained the daily requirements I have set forth and seen to them being followed with both vigor and rigor. Sergeant Simms has been likewise faithful as has his counterpart. _

_Jacobs remains a loyal and faithful officer, and true friend, if I may be so bold. He has done all that I could ask of him both casually and officially. By midweek he returned with a report of all artillery and armaments available in the area. It is, to be succinct, insufficient to repel any attacks that may befall us. _

_The same standards we have maintained do not seem to have been observed elsewhere. Fort Point seems to be all bluster and bravado over substance. Alas, one cannon is insufficient for them, but they speak as though they would defeat whole of the Yankee fleet. That mentality is well enough for those in training, but the line between rhetoric and substance should be our close acquaintance, rather than a stranger. Charlatan guns have but one purpose; to keep our enemy intimidated through the spyglass. But they can no more repel an attack than I could with my irons._

_It is a sad truth, but I remain in awe at the lack of preparation that surrounds us. Indeed, there are deficiencies that go well beyond insufficient ordnance and artillery, but go into the structural organization and leadership. Prudence dictates I say no more than I have already. _

_In personal matters, I bear a similar sense of listlessness and lack of direction. _

_Tomorrow will mark three weeks since Taylor's __ murder. It is quite difficult to believe, as it feels more like three years. _

_Today marks two weeks since Melody told me I was no longer welcome in her home and in her life. I cannot undo anything that I have done. I do not regret one whit the __ favors that were granted to me by my men that evening. Given the opportunity to relive that night, I might have found myself engaged with them in exacting that vengeance which was just, and that justice was dictated. I feel no sorrow for my actions, only for the consequences thereof. _

_In spite of her recent confession, I remain skeptical of Connie. She speaks with a tongue forked like that of Satan himself. Grateful though I maybe of her gesture, I lack confidence of words she may utter beyond my earshot. _

_The point of greatest concern lies in her accuracy. I share in the feelings she expressed; the pain of crumbling hope, the sting of severing that tie, and …_

_I simply cannot abide knowing that she maintained such an intimate knowledge of my emotions._

_I have, therefore, resolved that on the morrow I will call upon the widow Taylor, and reaffirm my sorrow for the loss of Mr. Taylor. I recognize the ulterior motive of gauging Melody's reaction, but I pray that Mrs. Taylor will recognize the sincerity of my action. For even if Melody remains true to her request, I believe that my relationship with her father justifies this. I am further resolved not to return should my presence be unwelcome. _

_And so, I stand ready for the night to pass. Tomorrow, once Jacobs relieves me, I shall make my journey and see if the strangeness of this calm shall pass as well. And we shall see what surprises tomorrow will bear._


End file.
